


There's No Telling Where We're Going, Or How We Got Here At All

by VigilantShadow



Series: Tales From The Lodge [2]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast), The Adventure Zone: Amnesty (Podcast)
Genre: Canon compliant up to ep 20, Developing Relationship, M/M, The Adventure Zone - Amnesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-09-24 12:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 61,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilantShadow/pseuds/VigilantShadow
Summary: Sometimes when you're an FBI agent sent to hunt Bigfoot, you date him instead.OR:Sometimes when you're trying to avoid the FBI agent hunting you, you date him instead.OR:I made a joke about this pairing and then got really invested in it whoops.





	1. One of Those Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> Stern has a less-that-enjoyable meeting with his boss. Barclay has a moment of sympathy.  
> I made the decision to have Stern's part be footnoted partially because I just surfaced after writing a thirty page academic citation in Chicago and partially because. Well. It seemed in character (for this Stern, at least, once he shows up more in canon I make NO PROMISES) for him to have a bunch of stuff in his narrative that you can only find if you go looking for it. ~~Like Barclay did what a sucker~~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern is having a bad day. Barclay makes a decision. Something begins.

The beginning of the end of Agent Stern's hunt for Bigfoot took place on one of his bad days. Though perhaps "bad day" was not a specific enough description, as quite a few of Agent Stern’s days in the past four months had, in fact, been bad.[1] So for precision’s sake it will be stated for the record that the following events took place on December 22nd, 2018.

Agent Stern had just finished his weekly debriefing with Agent Abigail Richmond, deputy head of the FBI’s Unexplained Phenomenon division. The call had been unpleasant. Which Agent Stern was ashamed to admit, as he considered himself and Agent Richmond friends.[2] Well, they were friends when she was happy with him, which was a problem as she had been getting steadily more _unhappy_ with him every week since he arrived in Kepler. So Saturday mornings for Agent Stern involved getting up earlier than he would have preferred,[3] driving to the edge of the radio dead zone so he could get a signal, and informing Agent Richmond that, once again, he hadn’t found anything.

Well, no, he’d found _something._ Agent Richmond didn’t _agree_ it was something, however, which only added to the quiet venom in her voice as she reminded him how disappointing his lack of results was. Stern had thought about arguing that, while it wasn’t as vital to their interests as a live cryptid, a perfectly symmetrical sinkhole appearing in the middle of town certainly seemed like something they ought to investigate. Instead, because he liked keeping his head where it was, he settled for promising to do better. She replied that she expected he already be doing his _best_ on _this_ of all cases. He said yes ma’am and she hung up, leaving him standing next to his car beside the _Welcome to Kepler_ sign with only the morning frost to keep him company.

Aside from the disagreement about the sinkhole, this was a precise reenactment of the call from the week before. And the call the week before that. And the week before that, stretching back until about two weeks after Agent Stern had arrived in Kepler. Stern shut his eyes and imagined throwing his phone into the woods. It was so, so tempting. He settled for slamming his door harder than necessary as he got back into the car.[4] Then he started the ten minute drive back to Amnesty Lodge, futilely going over mindfulness exercises in his head.

Agent Stern didn’t feel any less shitty when he reached the lodge, but at least his reflection didn’t _look_ like that of someone becoming increasingly aware of how out of his element he was. Or like someone who’d just gotten told off by someone who could probably, and maybe would, legally murder him. He sighed, running a hand through his hair so it looked like he’d actually had time to style it properly before leaving, and double checked his smile before going inside.

The first floor of Amnesty Lodge was practically deserted, as it often was when Agent Stern woke up in the morning. Barclay was behind the bar at the left wall, cleaning glasses. A woman who Agent Stern thought was named Moira sat at the piano, flipping through a brightly colored songbook. As soon as he entered they both looked up, and Moira began glancing toward the stairs as if planning her escape. To her credit, she had done it gracefully enough he wouldn’t have noticed had he not known everyone at the lodge was avoiding him.

Agent Stern had intended to go up to his room and pretend he wasn’t sulking for a few hours, but as he watched her he realized that he was in a petty mood. Which he most _definitely_ should not be giving into, since alienating the town folk even more than he apparently had by just _existing_ would only hurt his investigation.[5]

But the investigation was already going about as bad as it could be, so he rolled his shoulders and went to sit at a table near the piano. He saw Moira’s grip on her book tighten out of the corner of his eye, and a moment later she stood and left. As he watched her go he felt someone’s gaze on him and managed to catch Barclay’s eye before the bartender could frown and look away.

Under any other circumstances, this sort of behavior would have made Agent Stern suspicious. It had in fact made him suspicious when he’d first arrived, enough so that he’d added every single person staying in the lodge as well as Ned Chicane to the list of “Possible Cryptids In Disguise.” Then the weeks had stretched on and there’d been no _other_ evidence of their guilt, and one day in a fit of objectivity he’d realized that writing what was essentially “I’m upset no one likes me” down as evidence was a bit of a dick move. So he’d made a column for evidence against on the list just to be fair, and eventually that side had been filled with too many things for him to honestly believe anyone was involved with his case.[6] So it must have been something he’d done that was making them anxious. Maybe he ought to try and be…well, he’d _been_ nice to them this whole time, but maybe figure out a different kind of nice to try and be. He could start with Barclay, maybe. He at least had the manners to look sheepish when Stern caught him staring, after all.

Agent Stern pulled his notebook out of his coat pocket and flipped to the aforementioned suspects page, just to have something to do. He stared at it for a moment, fiddling with his pen absentmindedly as he tried to find whatever it was he’d obviously missed. Because he _had_ to have missed something, otherwise he wouldn’t have gone so long without making progress. Sure, plenty of investigations went cold, but only because whatever potential event UP had detected turned out to be perfectly ordinary. If that were the case in Kepler, Agent Stern would have come to the conclusion that Ned Chicane was better at doctoring footage than he seemed and gone home. Something was going on in Kepler, though. Agent Stern could, at the risk of feeling like a cliche, taste it.

Or maybe he was just being biased. Maybe this was all just because Bigfoot was involved.

Agent Stern cut off that thought, turning to a blank page just to get his absolutely _useless_ evidence table out of his sight. He took a deep breath and realized that at some point his jaw had clenched up. He loosened it and chanced a look up to make sure Barclay hadn’t noticed him losing his composure, thankfully finding the man still focused on his work. Good. The last thing Agent Stern needed on a day like this was someone _noticing_ it was a day like this. He stared down at his wrist, at the strip of white shirt cuff that peeked out from his black suit jacket _exactly_ the regulation amount. Well, at least he could still _look_ like someone who had his shit together.

God, he hoped he could close this investigation soon. Preferably by tracking down Bigfoot, but at this point he’d settle for just about _anything_. Then he could leave this town, which was simultaneously one of the most pleasant places he’d ever been and one of the most uncomfortable.[7] Maybe the next time they sent him out, it would be to a place where people actually wanted something to do with him. Agent Stern considered himself a fairly likeable person, or at least he tried to be, and if he was honest with himself maybe he could admit it hurt his feelings.

He hadn’t had _that_ bad of a day yet, though, so he settled for making a new list labeled “Times I’ve Done Things That Might Make People At The Lodge Not Like Me.” No, that was still pretty pathetic. He crossed it out. He wrote it down again. He shut his notebook and very carefully didn’t glare at it, because he’d _just_ been worried about Barclay catching him being incompetent. Wanting to murder an inanimate object seemed like it might be considered incompetent in some circles.

After a full minute of not glaring, Agent Stern felt eyes on him again. He looked up and found that he was much more distracted than he’d realized, because Barclay was standing directly in front of his table with a glass of water in hand. Barclay looked almost bashful as he set it down, sliding it to Agent Stern.

“Here, you uh. Look like you need it.”

* * *

 

Barclay wasn’t sure what had possessed him to draw Agent Stern’s attention on purpose. He’d made it a policy _not_ to since this whole mess started, after all. It had been rude, he knew it had been rude, but Barclay figured he was entitled. He was, after all, the cryptid Stern was hunting.

Hell, it wasn’t even just the fact that he was the focus of the investigation that made Barclay gun-shy around Stern. It was that Barclay’d seen too many monster hunters in his time, figured out all the different types, and government men with smiles and smooth voices were almost always the worst. Between those two things, and the fact that Barclay’d might have projected his annoyance with Ned for snitching just a little, it’d taken about one and a half seconds for Barclay to decide he’d be steering clear of Stern.

Barclay’d done well for a little while, too. Limited himself to just staring when Stern wasn’t looking and pretending that he wasn’t when Stern caught him. It was logical, to watch him. He was the enemy, even if he wasn’t as bad as the abominations, and just like the abominations going into a fight with him unprepared wouldn’t end pretty for anyone. So it was only natural Barclay take up a bit of spying. Then, like a complete idiot, Barclay had gone and looked too hard.

Barclay _knew_ federal agents. Both after and before the Pine Guard he’d stumbled on plenty of people looking into him or one of his friends, and each time he’d watched quietly from the cover of the woods and done his best not to try and empathize with them. That sort of thing could only lead to making it harder to get them gone. Most of the time it wasn’t too difficult, because the kinds of people that the government sent out to kill _anything,_ even monsters, tended to be a little empty inside. When he’d seen Stern stroll into the Lodge with that plastic smile Barclay recognized plenty well, Barclay’d assumed this would be about the same situation. And yet here he was.

“Normally if someone around here looks like they’re, uh, having a bad day I’d bring ‘em tea but. I don’t know how you take yours so. Sorry about that.”

Here he fucking was. Stern opened his mouth. Stern closed his mouth. For a split second he looked like a normal, confused person. Then his face smoothed back over into the neutrally pleasant smile. Barclay wondered whether he knew how unnerving it was.

“Oh, you don’t need to do that, Barclay. I’m perfectly alright. It’s just mornings, you know?” Stern said. Barclay knew that was bullshit, and he was eighty-five percent sure Stern knew he knew it was bullshit, because Barclay’d seen Stern all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at seven AM every morning for weeks.

“Well, either way you looked like you could use a distraction.”

Stern’s eyebrow twitched just a little bit at being caught, but he reached for the glass.

“Thank you, then.”

Barclay’d been staring at Stern plenty over the past couple months, and in that time he’d learned to catch those twitches. To catch the way Stern sometimes stumbled over his words and tripped into sounding like a real human being, or how he’d let his smile fall into something like fear or annoyance when his case wasn’t going well and he thought no one was looking. And, because Barclay’d spent all those years learning what a soulless man in black looked like, he’d looked over all those little things and gotten to wondering why Stern was trying so hard to be one when he was so _awful_ at it. He was still dangerous, sure, which was why Barclay had passed the months following that realization continuing to avoid him. But now here he was, letting his “don’t talk to FBI Agents that are after you” sylph instincts be overrun by his “I can’t just stand here while someone’s in some kind of emotional distress” Barclay instincts.

He watched Stern take a sip of water and, because of those terrible Barclay instincts, had an idea. It was an awful idea. He sat down.

“You know,” he began, and Stern looked up again. “I’ve usually got a policy of getting to know everyone that uh, stays around here. And it seems that I haven’t really done that, for you. That was rude of me.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Stern said, though Barclay was pretty sure he had. _This is an awful idea,_ his brain told him again.

“I’d like to make it up to you, either way.” It was the damn sinkhole that did this, Barclay thought. As soon as he’d heard it starting to open Stern’d come sprinting down the stairs and out the doors of the lodge, pea coat only half on and tie crooked. Aside from that, and the one time he’d left the hot springs in a robe and most _definitely_ hadn’t glanced Barclay and Mama’s way just a tidge passive-aggressively, Barclay’d never seen Stern without his full suit on. Apparently pettiness and the threat of a whole bunch of people dying were the two things that could do it.

“There’s really no need, I didn’t notice at all,” Stern insisted, obviously lying. If Stern were dumb enough not to notice everyone in the lodge avoiding him then he wouldn't have survived to adulthood, and Barclay wouldn’t be in this situation.

“Well, I want to anyway.” This was an awful idea and it wouldn’t end well. And yet here he was. In the past couple months he’d spent hours awake trying to figure out how to deal with Agent Stern, to come up with a solution that wasn’t “wait and hope he leaves” or “kill him if he ever figures out too much,” and apparently this was all he could come up with.

“I…yes, I suppose that’s fine then.” If nothing else, Agent Stern looked as surprised as he was. He stared at Barclay appraisingly for a moment, then nodded to himself. “Say, how about we get started right now?” Stern took a deep, fortifying breath, and asked, “Do you want to go get something to eat?”

Barclay couldn’t think of a coherent answer to the question he was pretty sure he’d just been asked, and he must have been quiet a lot longer than was socially acceptable. Stern set his glass down and picked up his pen again, clicking it nervously.

“I know that it’s probably kind of an insult to ask a chef if he wants to go someplace else to eat but I’ve been having…” He paused and ran a hand over his face. “You were right, earlier. I’ve been having a day, and I kind of want to spend an hour or two someplace that no one knows me. I mean, except you, of course.” Stern winced, “I’m sorry, it was stupid of me to ask. Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen.”

Barclay should have played along. Or said fuck no. Or literally anything that would have ended the interaction immediately.

Instead his stupid, stupid mouth said, “Sure.”

Jesus, why’d he go and say something like that? He’d come over here to have a nice little talk and maybe figure out whether there was a solution to Stern being around other than “wait until he leaves and hope he doesn’t see anything we’d have to kill him for,” not to go on a _date._ Even aside from the fact that this was an FBI agent specifically here to hunt him down, he shouldn’t have said yes. After all, he hardly knew anything about Stern. Just that he dressed nice, was a petty bastard, and ran straight into danger and potential death when there were other people’s lives on the line.

Oh. Well _fuck._ That’d be why.

 

[1] Not that anyone could have told by his demeanor.

[2] Friends was a strong word, perhaps. “Work colleagues with an amicable relationship” might have been a more accurate term.

[3] Which was to say 4:30am.

[4] It was a department issued car, which made it at least a little satisfying.

[5] He’d indulged in it once or twice too often at the beginning of the investigation, most obviously when he’d decided to stay at the lodge despite literally everyone objecting. It obviously hadn’t worked out too well, and one would think he’d have learned. They would _think._

[6] This included reasoning such as “if Dani Synclair is capable of violence against another person then I am clearly not a good enough judge of character to be in the FBI” and “Literally none of these people are subtle OR good at lying.”

[7] The most pleasant place being a bed and breakfast in Maine which he had briefly stayed at for two weeks in 2011. Unfortunately, the owner turned out to be a serial killer, so the memory was a bit tainted. She wasn’t even a supernatural serial killer, so at the end of the day Agent Stern got nothing out of the visit. Well, aside from an arrested serial killer.


	2. Coffee and Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern tells Barclay about his investigation troubles. Barclay tells Mama about his Stern troubles. But hey, the date went well!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Gives this fic a perfectly good name  
> Also me: continues calling it The Sternclay Fic in my head.  
> 

Agent Stern had intended his offer to Barclay to be purely platonic, but about two seconds after he spoke he realized it hadn’t come out that way. He wasn’t sure when exactly it had gone wrong, probably when Barclay hadn’t said anything and Agent Stern had started rambling. Which was likely not the worst way to ask someone on a date, but also certainly not the best.[1]

Part of him felt like he should be embarrassed about the mix-up but, well, hadn’t he just been thinking about ways to get to know the people of Kepler? This was, technically, exactly what he’d wanted. It also didn’t hurt that Barclay was fairly good looking, in that “I live in the woods” kind of way. As a clean cut FBI man Agent Stern was fairly sure he wasn’t supposed to admit he found appealing, but he sort of did.[2] So this would be fine, he told himself as they left the lodge. This would be absolutely fine.

“I figure we might as well walk,” Barclay said, looking less awkward than Stern felt but not by much, “place I’m thinking of isn’t too far, and I’ve always found stretching my legs helps on a bad day.”

Stern hummed in agreement, though the air was a bit too cold for him to be entirely comfortable even under his coat. Barclay seemed unbothered by it, either because of his hairiness or his muscles, not bothering to put anything on over his lightweight red flannel. This would be absolutely fine, too. If Stern could concentrate on the way his breath misted in front of him and the cold air seeped into his arms, then maybe he could avoid focusing on how unprofessional and not to mention out of character this was.[3]

It didn’t work. Instead, he ended up so distracted that they’d already reached town proper by the time he realized he’d been lost in exactly that thought. Barclay didn’t seem to mind his silence, though Stern wondered whether that was because he genuinely didn’t mind or because he was too polite to say anything. He just guided them to a quaint little line of buildings and came to a stop in front a coffee shop nestled between a bicycle repair place and a tailor’s. Barclay held the door open for Stern, who remembered to nod politely just in time to avoid rudeness.

The shop was small, and as homey as everything around Kepler was. The walls were paneled with a soft brown wood, and the tables and chairs – also wood – looked like they could have been taken from someone’s house. Art which had to have been made by locals hung from every wall, and the menu was scrawled in a neat hand on a chalkboard.

“It doesn’t look like much, I know,” Barclay said quietly, “but they’ve got really good pastries and Mama likes their coffee, which she doesn’t usually like coffee unless she makes it herself so I assume that means it’s good. And most of the people I know that come here come here for lunch, so we’re not likely to be bothered by anybody.”

“You could’ve just mentioned the coffee and I would’ve been sold,” he said. Barclay huffed out a breath that was approaching a laugh.

“You a coffee drinker, then?”

“I’m a law enforcement agent, it’s part of the image.”

A real laugh this time.

“Suppose that’s fair.” Barclay looked at him for a moment, grinning, then shook himself, “well, no use standing around I guess. Wanna order so we can sit down?”

A few minutes later, they were seated across from each other at a table in the back corner. Stern resisted the instinct to pull out some bit of evidence and get back to work, setting his vanilla latte[4] and chocolate croissant[5] down and removing his coat to drape it over the back of his chair. Barclay watched him as he sat down, and Stern did his best not to try and read anything into the other man’s expression. He failed, both at not trying to read anything and at reading anything. Instead of allowing himself to reflect on that, he took a sip of his coffee and made an appreciative noise.

“Mama was right, this is good,” he said. Barclay let out a sigh of relief.

“Good, good. I’d never had it, and you know. Mama’s great but she’s, well, she’s a unique sort of person so sometimes her saying something’s alright doesn’t really mean it’s alright for uh…anyone else.”

Stern had not in fact known that, but it made sense so he nodded.

“So, do you get into town often?” Stern asked. It was a stupid question, probably, seeing as Barclay _lived_ in town. But it was the only thing that came to mind.

“Not as much as I’d like, really. The lodge takes up most of my time. You?”

“Also not as much as I’d like.[6] I’ve really only gone by most places in town once, to see if they know anything about, well, you know.”

Barclay nodded. There was a moment of silence, during which Barclay appeared to be building up the courage to say something and Stern spent curling his hands around his cup and wondering how dates were supposed to go. Stern _had_ been on dates before, but they had all either been when he was a teenager or with colleagues. The former had been unbearably awkward and the latter tinged with a stiff formality bred from the fact they’d have to be able to look one another in the eye at work the next morning. Neither atmosphere was exactly what he wanted out of this situation.[7] Luckily, Barclay came up with something to say before Stern had to.

“How’s your investigation going, by the way?” Barclay asked.

“I’m sorry, I can’t-“

“Oh, yeah, I understand. I just figured you seemed like you were, uh, focusing hard on it. You might wanna talk it out with someone that’s not actually involved.”

God, he really did. And god, he really shouldn’t. Stern tried not to frown physically, despite the fact that he was frowning emotionally, and picked at the edge of his pastry. He really, really shouldn’t.

“It’s going about as badly as it could be, to be honest,” Stern admitted. It wasn’t like he’d learned enough during the investigation to actually _have_ any secrets to give away. Technically, this was revealing nothing except his own recently-acquired incompetence. He was sure Agent Richmond wouldn’t object to him telling anyone about that.

“Really?” Barclay asked. He sounded genuinely surprised, but there was an emotion underneath it Stern couldn’t place. Both of them blinked, and whatever it was disappeared. Stern couldn’t bring himself to chase it.

“Haven’t found anything. Well. Not anything the rest of the division would be satisfied with.” He took a self-pitying swig of his latte. He really shouldn’t be saying this. But then, he also shouldn’t be sitting in a coffee shop at six thirty on a Saturday morning having a date with someone who was technically a suspect. It was all Barclay’s fault for looking so damn sympathetic, Stern reasoned. It was making Stern want to talk.[8] 

“You just look like you’re always working on something, so I figured that, well, if there’s anything to find you’d’ve already found it.”

Stern didn’t cringe. He took pride in that.

“Yes, well. I haven’t.” He fidgeted with his croissant some more. The whole corner of it had flaked away, so he sighed and took a bite. The silence got a bit awkward, so he decided to change the subject.

“So, have you been in town long?” He asked. Barclay seemed just as glad for an escape from the hole their previous line of conversation had fallen into, because he smiled. Stern breathed an internal sigh of relief and hoped that none of his discomfort had shown on his face.

“Oh, a while. I moved here back in, uh, 2002 maybe? Somewhere around then. I’d just gotten out of a,” Barclay paused to think for a moment, “bad living situation? And then I met Mama. You know, it was a completely random thing, but as soon as I did it just felt right that I get to know her.” He looked wistful at that. “She needed someone to help out around the lodge and I needed a place to live, so it all worked out.”

“I’m glad it did. You seem…” Stern fished for the right word. Happy? Fulfilled? No, those were all true, but they didn’t encompass everything, “at home there.” Stern couldn’t imagine what the lodge would look like without Barclay, or what Barclay would look like without the lodge. Stern wasn’t sure he had any right to say that, though, because in all honesty he barely knew the man.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been happier since I came here than I was the whole rest of my life,” Barclay admitted. “It’s just…I stepped in the front door for the first time and thought _this is where I’m supposed to be,_ you know?”

“Of course.”[9]

“So, what about you? How long have you been, well, doing your thing?”

Finally, a question he could answer without having to justify it to himself.

“About as long as you’ve been at the lodge, actually.” He paused. “I’ve wanted to be in the FBI since I was a kid. My father worked there, you see, and I always knew it was where I was going to work. UP was a bit of a surprise but...Well, it was sort of a natural progression for me.”[10]

“And you enjoy it?” Barclay asked.

“Very much so. Well, except on investigations like these, of course.” He widened his smile just a tad, showing a flash of teeth for a second to show he was joking. “It’s fulfilling work and, despite the precedent this whole situation has set, I’m good at it. The only real downside is that I don’t get a chance to do things like this very often.”

Barclay nodded.

“You know, I was just thinkin’ the same thing. I mean, my situation’s not nearly as exciting as yours, seeing as you’re probably going all around the country and I’m always around here. But I, well, my job’s to take care of the people at the lodge and that takes a lot of time.” Barclay laughed, almost as if to himself. “Also, I’ve been living here twenty years, so I’ve pretty much gotten past the point of bein’ able to date anyone that’s here. Well, Ned Chicane's pretty new in town, I guess. But let’s just say he has a thing or two I’d like him to apologize for before I’d consider _that._ ”

“I’m happy to shake things up for you, then.”

More silence. On Stern's part, this was due to the realization that the date had gone from an accident he couldn't talk himself out of to something he was enjoying.

“So was it being the family business your only reason to get into, you know, the family business?” Barclay asked suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“You said you went into government work ‘cuz of your dad. I was wondering if that was your only reason, or if there was anything else.”

Stern shrugged and took a sip of his coffee, trying to give himself a moment to think of an answer. It wasn’t something he’d thought about while joining, or in the twenty years he’d been in the field.

“You know, I think you’re the first person that’s ever asked that?” Everyone had seemed to attribute it to some sort of legacy. Stern had, too, until this moment. He thought over every second of his childhood, trying to find the moment his hero worship of his parents crystalized into a certainty of his future. He remembered when he was eleven, seeing his father putting on his tie in front of the closet mirror and imagining himself doing that as an adult, but that couldn’t be all it was. He’d watched his mother prepare for work as well, but that didn’t mean he’d seriously considered becoming a veterinarian.

“You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to. It’s kind of a personal question, come to think of it.” Barclay had obviously mistaken his silence for a hesitance to answer. Stern thought of taking that easy out, but he was a man who solved mysteries by trade and Barclay had just dangled a mystery in front of his face. Was that the reason? He’d always liked puzzles when he was younger, but something told him that wasn’t the explanation he was looking for.

Stern remembered being eleven and seeing his father standing in front of the mirror, and then remembered seeing his father sitting on his bed, having arrived home hours after Stern’s bed time. He remembered listening at the door as his father told his mother with shaking words what had happened that day. He’d sat against the wall outside the room, his bedtime story that night of his father fighting a monster that shouldn't have existed to stop something horrible from happening. He remembered forgetting that story, or maybe justifying the monster as some sort of metaphor, as he grew older and other troubles became concrete.

“I heard my father tell a story about saving someone’s life, once,” he answered, realizing that truth as the words came out of his mouth. Barclay stared at him with another unreadable expression. Stern thought, or hoped, that it was a positive one. He took a bite of his croissant.

* * *

 

An hour and a half after Barclay had returned to the lodge, Stern matching his stride perfectly the whole walk back despite being several inches shorter, Barclay found himself sitting in the bunker with Mama staring at him skeptically.

“You did _what_ with Agent Stern?” She asked. He dropped his head into his hands.

“I already told you,” he replied. He could practically feel her disapproval radiating off of her. He hoped the pure force of it killed him.

“Yeah, well, I must have heard you _wrong_ because I thought you said you went on a date with him and that can’t be right accounting for he’s Agent Fucking Stern.”

“No, you heard right Mama.”

She let out a noise more disgruntled than Barclay’d thought a human mouth could produce. He peeked between his fingers at her and caught her pacing back and forth.

“I leave you alone in the lobby for half an hour and I come back and you’re dating the FBI man.”

“I’m not _dating_ Agent Stern, we went on _a_ date, which means one date thank you very much!”

Mama looked at him, her eyes narrowed.

“Barclay, are you bullshitting me, or just thinking you're physically capable of going on just one date with a person?”

Barclay opened his mouth to say that hey, he could very _much_ go on just one date with someone, so long as the date was a total disaster. Of course, she’d just shoot back that it most definitely _wasn’t_ a total disaster given that if it were he’d be less embarrassed about the whole thing. And it hadn’t been a disaster. It had gone much better than Barclay had expected, especially after Stern had told him why he’d ended up joining the FBI.

He’d expected the answer to _be_ “I wanted to help people,” but he’d feared it’d be said as a platitude. A lot of people would claim that was their reason, even if they were really motivated by a power trip or some monster inside them that thrived with the legal authorization to hurt people. But Stern had looked genuine in that moment, his smile gone and his eyes a bit surprised, like even he hadn’t expected that answer. Barclay remembered Stern running toward the sinkhole with his jacket half on and wondered why, despite that image being why he’d gone on the date in the first place, Barclay had been surprised too.

Once they’d both gotten past that moment it was easier to talk, and they’d spent a good hour or two in the coffee shop doing just that. It was mostly Barclay telling stories about Kepler and the lodge, sure, but Stern had listened and responded and his smile was only half fake as he did so. It seemed less like a mask he’d put on to hide the nothing underneath and more like one he’d put on by accident and forgotten how to take off. Barclay had found himself wondering once or twice what Stern’s smile looked like with it gone.

So okay, yeah, maybe Mama was right about him being physically incapable of going on just one date.

“Even if that _were_ true which it _isn’t_.” Mama snorted. Barclay ignored her and kept talking. “You’re assuming _Stern_ will be going on another date with _me_.”

“First off, that man’s been getting so high strung this month I’m pretty sure he’s likely to snap himself in half, so given that he looked like his blood pressure’d gone down to something almost normal when he came back in I’d say he had a good time. Second, you’re Barclay, which means if he didn’t want to go on a second date with you he’s either straight or a fuckin’ idiot.”

Barclay met her eyes, and not for the first time he marveled at how unfinished that thing between the two of them had been. It was a loose end he’d never figured out how to reel back in, or she hadn’t, and sometimes he wondered how they could’ve managed it when they were always so close together. Well, he knew how they’d manage to become a loose end. What he didn’t know was how, except at moments like this, they could pretend they’d never been tied together at all.

“Yeah, well,” Barclay said uncomfortably, “even if that’s so. It’s not like it could hurt, going on maybe two or three dates with the guy. He’s nice.”

“You, Bigfoot, are sayin’ the guy who’d probably kill you or send you to some government prison without blinking, is _nice._ ”

Barclay frowned. She really thought he hadn’t been worrying about that?

“Listen. He’s…” Barclay didn’t know how he intended to finish that sentence. Not in a way Mama wouldn’t scoff at. Of course, because he was him and Mama was Mama she was able to read him anyway.

“Holy shit, Barclay. Are you making him your project? Are you going to try and fix-him-up the secret agent? You and I both know those sorts of things don’t work.”

Barclay thought about saying something unkind as both of their eyes flickered to the other room, where the other loose end between them was chained up. Of course he couldn’t, on account of he had no idea how lucid Thacker was underneath whatever was inside him, and if the answer was anything other than not at all that would be kind of a dick move. Besides, even he couldn’t say it was the same thing, not really.

“It isn’t _like_ that Mama.” It was just a little bit, and her expression told him so. “I’m not gonna try and change him or whatever idea you’ve got running around inside your head. But are you saying it wouldn’t be nice if, I dunno - ”

“If you got him fond of you enough not to turn you in. Jesus, is there something in the water? First Duck, then Aubrey, now you…it’s like this whole lodge has decided they’ve gotta make _nice_ with the enemy.”

Barclay sighed.

“Like I said, Mama. That’s not why I…I’m not even saying I’m _gonna_ date him. I’m just saying I can’t say that I’m not gonna. I know you think it’s a bad idea, and hell it might be, but he’s not a bad guy and that’s what…” He trailed off. He didn’t even know what he was saying. This wasn’t how he’d wanted this conversation to go. Mama gave him another look, but this one wasn’t angry. Just worried.

“Fine. Fine. Just promise you won’t get us caught?” She asked. It was the request she felt like she had to make, so Barclay gave the response he knew _he_ had to make.

“I’ll do my best, Mama.”

“Promise you won’t get yourself hurt _?”_ She asked, more genuinely.

“I’ll do my best, Mama.”

              

 

[1] It might have been the worst if Barclay had said no. Or maybe that would have been better. It depended on how this went, Stern supposed.

[2] Read: very much did.

[3] Not to say he didn’t occasionally get the urge to ask out attractive men who were nice to him. But he most definitely did not act on those urges, or even consciously admit them to himself, because he liked to pretend he had standards.

[4] Regardless of his joke about being mandated to enjoy coffee, absolutely nothing short of the threat of death would make him drink it black.

[5] Which the barista had handed him when he had smiled at her and said “give me whatever you like best.” _She’d_ seemed to appreciate his pleasantries, which was a nice change of pace.

[6] He hadn’t particularly thought about how much he would like to go into town until that very moment, of course, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

[7] Perhaps, he thought, I should figure out what I want out of this situation.

[8] This should have upset Stern, who was an FBI agent trained to resist interrogation, much more than it did. But Barclay also had nice eyes, and Stern was very tired, and really at the end of the day what could go wrong? There was no way Richmond could find out.

[9] No, not really.

[10] UP had only come into existence recently, but its formation hadn’t signaled the beginning of the FBI’s investigation into the supernatural. All it had signaled was the fact that the other divisions were sick of having to cover up paranormal phenomena and so it was convenient to create a task force devoted to dealing with the paranormal and then tell them it was their job to clean it up.


	3. Pancakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern has a nightmare. Barclay makes pancakes. They have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uhhhh, I realized one of my footnotes contained information I'd changed my mind about (namely how long UP has existed).  
> I also realize that technically according to the timeline Barclay's only been in the Pine Guard quote unquote a few years. I'm declaring that a few years in, like, sylph years. It's the opposite of dog years. IDK  
> Anyway, this is technically the Xmas chapter but it's not about Xmas at all. Whoops.

One thing Stern could say about Amnesty Lodge was that, no matter how much he felt its residents’ eyes following him, no matter how much stress he was under from the absolute _nowhere_ the case was going, it had never given him a nightmare.[1] That is, until he found himself gasping in his bed just as Christmas Eve began with teeth and glowing eyes lingering in his mind. It wasn’t something he’d seen either dreaming or awake, which was novel and also meant he couldn’t get back to sleep. After an hour or two of lying there staring at the ceiling, he turned his head and spent another ten minutes staring at his alarm clock and watching the minutes blink by. 2:00. 2:01. 2:02. He sat up.

He wondered if he should feel foolish as he pulled on a shirt and pants and looped a tie around his neck, but the ritual helped him feel centered. If he was going to be dragged out of bed by a figment of his imagination, then fine. He wasn’t letting anyone that might wander downstairs see he was shaken. Not that he’d fool anyone up close, he thought as his shaking hands left the knot of his tie uneven. His smile was uneven, too, so he spent a moment fixing both in the mirror before leaving the room.

He made his way silently down the hall.[2] He’d hoped to do the same with the steps, but the third stair down creaked, not loudly but enough for Stern to stop and wince, hearing the whine of that thing with teeth in his ears. A moment later there was another creak as the door nearest the stairs opened.

“Uh, hey,” Jake Coolice mumbled blearily behind him. “Sorry, didn’t expect to see you out there.” Stern turned to face him. Coolice was standing there shirtless and wearing a pair of too-large pants with snowboarders on them.[3]

“Sorry to disappoint,” Stern whispered back blithely as he turned around. And thank god, his voice was even. “It’s a day too early for Santa, though.”

Coolice stared at him. Stern knew it was a bad joke, had known it even as he said it aloud. He gritted his teeth under his smile, because the last thing he needed at two in the morning after a nightmare was to alienate the lodge's residents even more than he already had.

“You okay, dude?” Coolice asked, voice croaking with sleep. In the moonlight streaming from the skylight over the stairs, Stern thought he could make out worry in the furrow between Coolice’s eyes.

“Of course.” Stern tried for a moment to come up with an excuse. Too long for it to sound like anything _but_ an excuse. So instead he said, “you should go back to sleep.”

Coolice stared for a long time.

“Yeah, sure man.” A pause, then seemingly against Coolice’s will, “take care of yourself.” Coolice shut the door carefully, and Stern was alone again. He swallowed and continued down the stairs.

Once he stepped down into the lobby, Stern realized he had no idea what he intended to do there. He’d just had to get out of his small, dark room, and now that he was in the big, dark lobby he was stuck. Part of him wanted to walk out the door and sit on the steps. Part of him wanted to keep walking, shoeless, until he found whatever was hiding in the woods or it found him. He sighed and settled for sitting in one of the impossibly comfortable chairs near the hearth, watching the dying coals winking and waiting to be stoked back into a fire at dawn.

Without Coolice’s eyes on him, he felt his hands start to shake again. He breathed out, slowly, counting the seconds as the air slid out of his lungs. The fire glimmered red and the moonlight shone blue, and even if something with teeth and glowing eyes came for him someday it wouldn’t be _now_.

“Are you alright?” Barclay asked, and Stern jumped.[4] Barclay was sitting at one of the barstools, turned to face Stern. A glass of water sat behind him, and Stern cursed himself for not checking the room before letting himself go like that.

“I’m fine,” he said. His voice was still steady, and even if he wasn’t smiling his face was most definitely still neutral, but Barclay looked concerned. He slid off his seat and made his way to Stern, who flattened his palms against his legs to keep them still. Barclay sat on the hearth, resting his elbows on his knees and looking Stern in the eye.

“In my experience people don’t come sit in the lobby in the dark if they’re fine, Agent Stern.”

Stern raised an eyebrow.

“You’re down here, too.”

“Yeah, well, my rooms right next to the kitchen. Came out here to get a drink. So, you wanna try again?”

“It’s nothing, really. I just woke up and needed a change of scenery, is all.” He smiled at Barclay. Barclay looked unconvinced. The taller man nodded anyways and stood, making his way over to the bar. Stern watched him go, and almost opened his mouth to ask what Barclay was doing before the man pulled out a glass and was filling it at the tap. The quiet splash of water was the only sound for a moment, that and the animals outside, and Stern was thankful for the end of the silence when Barclay handed it to him. Instead of drinking, Stern soaked in the feel of cool glass against his skin.

“Are all of our conversations going to start with you handing me a glass of water?” He asked. Barclay laughed, returning to his seat at the hearth. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, and his bare foot brushed Stern’s. Stern tried very hard to ignore it.

“Well, maybe someday you’ll have a good enough day I don’t feel the need to take care of you.”

“You don’t need to take care of me, I’m perfectly capable of handling myself,” Stern tried to say casually.[5] Barclay waved a hand apologetically.

“Aw, no, shit. That’s not what I was tryin’ to imply. I just can’t stand to watch someone sit there struggling if I think I can help. So I hope there’s a time you’re uh…not struggling.”

Stern hummed, and didn’t mention that the next time he wouldn’t be struggling would likely be when he finally caught a break in the case, and so would be right before he left forever. That seemed like a rude way to reply, and with Barclay so close he found the idea of going home to be less appealing than it had a few days ago. So instead he tried to sound cheerful as he said, “yes, but how would we start conversations if I was having a good day?”

“You know, I found you plenty entertaining to talk to after you’d relaxed at the coffee shop. I’m sure we could make it work. Anyway, you never answered when I asked what’s wrong.”

“I told you, I just happened to wake up,” Stern said. Barclay sighed.[6]

“Alright, alright. If you don’t wanna tell me you don’t wanna tell me.” He squinted at Stern consideringly, then tapped his foot against Stern’s leg. “Hey, do you like pancakes?”

“What?” Stern had to have misheard, because he thought Barclay just asked-

“Do you like pancakes?”

“I…yes?” Stern said, half response, half question. Barclay stood in one smooth motion and held out a hand to Stern. Stern stared at it for a moment before taking it, and Barclay pulled him to his feet. Seemingly without thought, Barclay threaded their fingers together and began making his way toward the kitchen with Stern in tow. He came to a stop near the counter and, giving Stern’s hand a squeeze,[7] let go and began rummaging through cupboards.

“When I can’t sleep I make pancakes,” Barclay explained as he pulled down ingredients and set them down on the counter next to Stern. “Do you like chocolate chips?”

“Barclay, I don’t want to keep you up.” Barclay turned, giving him an unimpressed look. “Yes, yes, I like chocolate chips.” Barclay came back over with the last of his supplies, pushing a bowl in Stern’s hands. Stern looked at Barclay in a way he hoped communicated his confusion without looking _too_ desperate.

He wasn’t sure whether he succeeded, because Barclay smiled and said, “you mix the dry ingredients, I’ll do the wet ones.”

Stern set the bowl down on the counter, wondering what stars had aligned in his life to bring him here[8] as he rolled up his sleeves. After a moment of thought he removed his tie, setting it carefully on the other side of the counter. Barclay had already started cracking eggs at that point, so Stern went to stand beside him. He took a deep breath, picked up the flour, and got to work.

* * *

 

Barclay slid the last pancake onto one of the plates he had set out, gesturing for Stern to take it as he did. As with their last date – Barclay was pretty sure making pancakes with someone in the middle of the night counted as one, whether it was planned or not – Stern had seemed to relax entirely without meaning to. Barclay bit back a smile as he caught sight of the tie on the counter and realized he’d need to add a third thing to the list of ways to get Stern out of his suit. Then he had to hastily shut down that thought before it went on and started thinking of _other_ possibilities.

It was a shame how quickly Stern went back to formality outside of these little moments, though. He was already rolling down his sleeves again, and Barclay resisted the urge to take his hands again and tell him he didn’t need to. It was 2am, they were the only ones there, and Barclay certainly didn’t mind. Biting back his disappointment, Barclay took comfort in the fact that Stern had no idea there was a bit of flour dusting his nose. Barclay certainly wasn’t going to tell him, so it was just going to have to stay there.

“Do you wanna eat in here or out in the lobby?” Barclay asked. Stern hummed in consideration.

“I think if we bring food out Mr. Coolice and Ms. Little might smell it and come try to steal it,” he said. Barclay wondered if that was a joke. He really hoped it was a joke, because he found himself laughing at it. Thankfully, Stern’s eyes softened in a way that told Barclay his guess was right.

“Well then,” Barclay handed Stern a fork and hopped up on top of the counter, “time to eat.”

Stern hesitated, then pulled himself up next to Barclay, sliding his tie back around his neck as he did. They sat for a few minutes in silence working on their pancakes, before Stern let out a sigh.

“I was having a nightmare,” he admitted. Barclay glanced over at Stern, and found him staring intently at his fork as if he were confessing to it and not Barclay.

“Hmm?”

“You asked why I was awake, and what I told you wasn’t exactly the truth. I had a nightmare.” Stern looked embarrassed by that, though he did a good job of hiding it. Barclay didn’t think he’d have noticed it, had he not spent the days between their date and this very moment watching Stern even more closely than before, trying to figure out what the shifts in his expression meant. Then again, if not for that date the two of them probably wouldn’t be here.

“What about? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“This is going to sound silly,” Stern said, and he was _definitely_ embarrassed.

“I once had a nightmare about waking up in a world where all the foods in the world swapped names, and Mama kept asking me to make her dinner then getting mad when I came out with the wrong things.”

Stern snorted.

“Alright, I suppose it’s less silly than that. It’s. Well.” He twisted the fork in his hands. “I had a dream about a monster.”

Barclay tried to think of something to say, but before he could reach a conclusion Stern’s smile grew strained. He laughed, and it was a stiff sound.

“I know. Like I said, ridiculous. I’m part of an FBI subdivision that spends most of its time tracking down monsters. And in that subdivision, I’m one of the agents that _hunts_ those monsters. Yet here I am, having nightmares about them.”

Barclay felt his jaw clench as he listened, though he wasn’t sure what part of the statement he was most distressed about. His mind narrowed to the way Stern had just outright admitted he was there to _hunt_ monsters. Barclay had always known that was the point of UP, because at the end of the day that was always the point of groups like it, but he still didn’t want to hear it coming out of Stern’s mouth. It left a bitter taste in Barclay’s throat, but he couldn’t let that feeling slip out of him. So instead he focused on the last part of what Stern had said.

“Nightmares? As in plural?”

Stern’s façade dropped for a moment, his mouth twisting into an ugly shape before he took a deep breath and smoothed it out again.

“I haven’t had any since I got to Kepler. I’d hoped…I’d hoped it wouldn’t happen here. I suppose that was just asking for it, though, right?”

Barclay wanted to say something reassuring, felt bad about the fact that he couldn’t think of something reassuring to say. But the phrase _hunts monsters_ was stuck in his head, and in that moment Stern didn’t look like the man Barclay had felt drawn to over the past few days but like the threat Mama had warned Barclay about. So instead, feeling like an asshole and also like he was shooting himself in the foot, he pushed further.

“Were they monsters you’ve, you know, dealt with?”

Stern looked at him.

“I’m pretty sure that would count as discussing past cases. I can’t-”

“Yeah. Sorry. Don’t know why I asked.”

Stern set the fork down on his plate and put it beside him, then ran a hand down his face.

“Shit. I’ve already told you things I wasn’t supposed to, though. Honestly, the amount I showed _Ned Chicane_ when he asked was more than I was supposed to. So I might as well…yes. Almost all of them. It’s usually fine, on account of. Well. I’m usually _good_ at my job, so the things I’m dreaming about are usually dead things, which means when I wake up it’s not hard to get it out of my mind.”

“That’s good at least.” The part of Barclay’s brain that was worried about Stern focused on the phrase _usually good at my job,_ and if Stern had any _other_ job Barclay would feel obliged to reassure him. As it was, he kind of just wanted this conversation to stop happening, despite the fact that he'd asked the question to gauge just how many monsters Stern had run into. Just how many monsters that may have actually been sylphs.

“This one had teeth. Just. A lot of teeth.” Stern was looking at the wall, and Barclay had a feeling he wasn’t fully aware he was speaking. “I’ve never fought anything with that many teeth. That’s why…I think that’s why it shook me so much.”

“Are all your nightmares about fighting monsters?” Barclay wasn’t sure why he was asking, just like Stern didn’t seem to be sure of why he was answering. He knew what Stern’s most likely answer was, and asking wouldn’t help either of them. Stern shook his head.

“Yes. No. There’s always a monster. Usually it’s just…they’re there, and they’re being menacing. But sometimes…” Stern paused, then said, “Ignoring the fact that I'm most definitely not allowed to talk about _any_ of this, don’t tell my coworkers this because they _will_ make fun of me for it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I didn’t think you would, but I needed the disclaimer. Sometimes I dream about a monster I’ve killed after I've killed it, and I look down and it was a person all along.” He shook his head. “I think that’s the worst one, really.”

Barclay breathed a sigh of relief as quietly as possible. He could work with that, he thought as he swallowed that bitter taste down as much as possible. He took Stern’s hand carefully.

“Hey,” he said. Stern raised a questioning eyebrow. “I think those dreams make sense, you know.” Stern opened his mouth to protest, so Barclay rushed past before he could make a sound. “You’re a person, Stern. Having bad dreams about bad things that happen to you is…that’s just how it works. And I don’t know about you, but almost getting killed by a monster seems like a bad thing.” He thought about telling Stern he knew that personally, from waking up in the dead of night convinced an abomination had killed him. Then he thought about telling Stern that other dream meant he was not only a person, but a person Barclay could keep safe when all their secrets eventually came to light.

Instead, Barclay just leaned over and kissed him. Stern made a soft, surprised noise and then kissed back, and once that permission was given Barclay brought his free hand up to cup Stern’s jaw. He kissed Stern again, and again, in the hopes that Stern would feel in his breath and in their entwined hands that Barclay was a person, that he was alive. If he could make Stern feel that, then if Stern ever discovered Barclay’s secret he might remember that nightmare of a monster who was human and remember the feel of Barclay’s hand on his face and Barclay wouldn’t have to try and end him.They parted, faces barely an inch apart, and Stern’s smile was real as he looked into Barclay’s eyes.

 

[1] Which was more than a lot of others places, from that bed and breakfast run by a serial killer to his own apartment.

[2] They’d given him the room at the end of the hall. He’d assumed at first that it was just the only available one, but before he’d managed to move in he caught sight of Dani and Aubrey both shuffling down one door toward the stairs and realized they just wanted…well, he didn’t know what they wanted.

[3] Stern couldn’t say he’d ever put thought into what the residents of Amnesty Lodge wore to sleep, but if he did then this was what he would have imagined.

[4] He was one hundred percent certain that everyone at UP would be laughing at him if they could see him now, even the ones he liked. Especially the ones he liked.

[5] Or rather, not defensively. He failed.

[6] It sounded like a fond sigh, at least. Or maybe Stern just hoped it was.

[7] That was flirting, wasn’t it? Actual, purposeful flirting.

[8] In a kitchen at 2am on Christmas Eve with a man who looked like a lumberjack and was flirting with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broke: kissing on New Years Eve after the ball drops  
> Woke: kissing on Christmas Eve after revealing your darkest fears.


	4. What's In a Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay asks a question. Stern has hangups. The main characters of the podcast actually show up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I'm concerned, giving Agent Stern a reasonable first name is the coward's way out. If you can manage to give Stern the worst first name out of anyone on this entire website, then you ascend to godhood.
> 
> ALSO, Bug drew [this lovely piece of art](http://archidendron.tumblr.com/post/181419361805/i-drew-a-scene-from-vigilantshadows-fic-on-ao3) for the scene in the first chapter!!!

“Hey, uh, Ned,” Barclay began, trying as hard as he could to sound casual and utterly failing. “There’s something I was wondering.”

“Yes of course!” Ned looked up from the map of Monongahela that Duck had brought with him. Their weekly “Pine Guard super secret club meeting” as Aubrey called it had just ended, the awareness that an abomination would probably be showing up in the next few weeks on their minds. Or, on everyone else’s minds. Despite the urgency Barclay knew he ought to feel, today he found himself a little more worried about something else.

“You saw Agent Stern’s badge when you badge when he showed up, right?”

“Why yes I did! Why do you ask?”

“Do you remember his, uh, first name?” Barclay hoped, and he somehow sensed it was a vain hope, that he could get his answer without explaining his reason. Ned started thinking again, but unfortunately Aubrey solved the puzzle about ten seconds later.

“Holy shit! You don’t know it!” She exclaimed. Barclay resisted the urge to turn and run and smiled instead.

“Um. I. Well, that’s not true. I was just…Stern wanted to know if everyone knew his name so…” He trailed off when he saw Mama squinting at him.

“That was a real good Duck impression.” They all ignored Duck’s offended ‘hey’ in the background. “Now tell me how the _hell_ you don’t know Stern’s first name.”

“Yeah! You know, like, everything about everyone! That’s like your whole thing, you know all the important things about everyone and you make good sandwiches!”

Barclay was deeply touched by Aubrey’s statement, he really was. He also wanted to get his answer and then get far, far away before anyone pieced together why Mama was so unimpressed with him.

“I most definitely do know Stern’s first name, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, well, what is it?” Mama asked. Barclay made the mistake of meeting her eyes. They had a staring contest. She won, because of course she did.

“Okay fine, I don’t know it.”

“Wait, aren’t you guys, you know, dating or something?” Duck peered at Barclay from under the rim of his ranger hat.  Barclay narrowed his eyes at Mama. “Nah, don’t worry. Mama didn’t snitch. It’s just, uh, real obvious that you two’ve got a thing going.”

“And that means I shouldn’t worry _why_?”

“Wait, what?” Aubrey exclaimed, elongating the _what_ and clapping her hands together excitedly. “Congratulations you tw…wait a second isn’t he, like, trying to secret agent arrest you?” She leaned over to Duck and whispered, “That’s like normal arresting, but way worst.”

“Yeah, he is. On both counts,” Mama said, looking just as sour as she did the last time he’d mentioned Stern in her presence. “Barclay’s figurin’ he can sway our resident spook to the side of good with the power of love or some shit.”

Barclay rolled his eyes.

“Okay, first things first we’ve been _over_ this. I’ve gone out with him two whole times on account of I like him. Second thing Stern’s plenty good all on his own,” Aubrey wolf whistled. Barclay ignored it for the sake of his own sanity, “and if I want to convince him we aren’t the bad guys it’s on account of item one, I like him. And third, Ned Chicane stop waggling your eyebrows before I kill you. Anyway, I thought you’d decided this was fine _last_ time we talked about it, Mama.”

“I’m fine with the fact that you’ve always been a damn fool when you’re soft on someone, and also I trust you on account of you’re an adult. Still think it’s a bad idea.”

“Well _I_ think I’m wondering why you didn’t tell us!” Aubrey interjected.

“Oh-hoh, kissing a man in secret when you don’t even know his name? Positively _scandalous,_ ” Beacon chimed in from the wall Duck had leaned him against. Barclay groaned.

“I’m not trying to keep it a secret! Like I said, we’ve been on _two_ dates, both of which were accidents. No, Aubrey, I’m not telling you how that happened.” She looked disappointed. Barclay sighed. “I was kinda waiting to tell everyone I was dating the FBI agent that’s hunting me till, you know, we’d managed to go on a date on _purpose._ Thanks, Duck.”

Duck shrugged.

“Sorry, didn’t know it was a secret.”

“Well, this was an awesome talk. Glad we got to have it,” Barclay said flatly.

“You’re _super_ not!” Aubrey interjected. Barclay took a deep breath.

“Ned, the fact stands I don’t know my boyfriend’s first name and I’d really like to deal with that without having to _tell him_.”

He caught Aubrey mouthing the word _boyfriend_ gleefully and decided he would welcome death. He hadn’t meant for that word to slip out, given that he and Stern hadn’t actually discussed it yet, but it had felt right in his mouth and so he’d gone with it.

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” Ned said, his face going blank again.

“The fact _also_ stands you ain’t told us how the hell you’ve managed to make out with him and not remember his first name,” Mama added, very unhelpfully.

“Well…”

“Is it like that thing where you weren’t listening when someone introduces themselves and then you realize like four months later you have no idea what they said and it’s way too embarrassing to ask?” Aubrey guessed. “Because that happens to me, like, almost all the time so don’t feel bad.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much exactly it, only I’m also trying to date him and that makes it oh, about twenty times worse?”

“I’d say probably at least forty.”

“Thanks, Duck.”

“You’re welcome Barclay. I do try my best to be helpful.”

“Hmm,” Ned said, “well, I’d love to help you with this plight of yours, but you see…”

“ _What,_ Ned?”

“He had his thumb over his first name when he held up his badge.”

“You’d think he’d know how to hold it. Don’t they teach you that at FBI man school?” Aubrey added helpfully.

“You know…come to think of it I don’t recall him ever telling anyone his name,” Duck stroked his chin. “I mean, I might be reading into something but seein’ as it’s been months that might be on purpose.”

“Ah! Very suspicious. Perhaps Barclay’s dear Agent Stern-“

“I’m going to literally murder you right now Edmund whatever the hell all your middle names are Chicane.”

“-has a secret. Perhaps he is not _really_ an agent at all!” Ned Chicane grinned as if he had just solved a mystery of the ages.

“No, he’s most definitely a government agent. I know what fuckin’ government agents look like and he’s one. It’s the, well…” Mama arranged her face into a decent approximation of Stern’s typical expression. “No one else can hold that kinda bullshit smile their entire life.”

“I’ll have you know Stern is perfectly capable of normal expressions.”

“Then why ain’t I ever seen one?”

Barclay took a deep breath.

“Anyway. I’m going to go have the most awkward conversation of my life with Stern, so goodbye everyone. You’ve been absolutely no help.”

“Have fun!” Aubrey said cheerfully.

“Oh, and also, If you follow me I _will_ find some way to get Ned arrested.” He jabbed a finger at Ned for emphasis and stalked off. He only had enough righteous annoyance to get out of the door of the cellar and slam it, however, leaving him standing in front of the door like an idiot.

“Alright, Barclay, you can do this,” he told himself, fully aware he was standing outside in full view of everything having a conniption over talking to a good looking man like some kind of teenager. “You can do this.”

“Can do what?” Stern asked from the direction of the lodge’s front door, and Barclay almost had a heart attack.

“Uhhh, nothing?” Barclay replied, trying to move away from the door as casually as possible, because the last thing he needed today was Stern figuring out they were keeping something important down there. Stern met him a few feet away from it. His eyes shifted left and right surreptitiously, and then he held out his hand. Barclay took it, smiling in a way he knew probably looked awkward as hell.

“I didn’t know that door was unlocked,” Stern mused. “What have you got down there, anyway?”

“The boiler,” Barclay said hastily. “Anyway, I have something I need to ask you.”

* * *

 

“Yes?” Stern asked. He tried his best not to glance too obviously at the mystery door Barclay had come out of.[1] Barclay took Stern’s other hand as well and smiled at him awkwardly.

“Okay, so. This is going to sound really bad but…” Barclay trailed off, and Stern held his smile on his face very carefully as he wondered exactly what that meant.[2] “What’s your first name?”

Barclay said that last part so quickly that it barely penetrated Stern’s dark speculations. But then he processed exactly what Barclay had just asked and almost laughed out of both surprise and frustration. On the one hand, thank god it wasn’t anything immediately relationship-destroying. On the other, he very much did _not_ want to answer that question.

“Oh, I didn’t mention it, did I? Sorry, I thought we were, uh, doing this on a last name basis? Since everyone calls you Barclay, I mean.” This was partially the truth and partially an excuse, of course, but he didn’t want to bring that up.

“Barclay’s my first name, actually.”[3]

“It is? Well, I guess that makes sense. You don’t seem like the sort of guy who goes for last names.” Stern thought about asking Barclay what his surname _was_ , then decided that would only make things more awkward. Somehow. “So you…wanted my first name?”

“Yeah, it just seemed wrong of me not to know it. I should’ve asked sooner, but – “

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m in the FBI, so I’m kind of used to the whole ‘everyone goes by their surname’ thing.[4] Since it doesn’t come up often it must have just slipped my mind.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna,” Barclay insisted, “I just felt like kind of a dick for not knowing it.”

Stern looked into Barclay’s eyes and considered. On the one hand, he very much didn’t want to give out his name in _general._ On the other, this was the first time in a long time someone had outright asked, and it was also Barclay.

“I want to tell you.” He hadn’t decided until he was already saying it, but Barclay’s eyes were soft and Stern decided it was the right choice. Regretfully, he pulled one hand out of Barclay and reached for his badge. “Don’t make fun of me,” he warned, flipping it open.

A pause, then Barclay was biting back a grin.

“Alright, fine, you can make fun of me _once,_ ” he amended, surprised that this reaction didn’t bother him as much as it usually did. Barclay laughed.

“Okay, okay. Give me a minute, I need to think of a good one. Uh…hold on. I’ve got it.” His eyes crinkled at the edges as his smile grew. “I’m Lucky to have you.” Stern sighed. Barclay was fortunate[5] that this particular smile was a good look on him.[6]

“I’d never heard that one before, and I wish I could still claim that ignorance,” he said flatly. He realized then that he’d never stopped regulating his expression, because Barclay’s jaw tightened worriedly. Stern took a deep breath. Barclay liked it when he relaxed, right? Stern could give him a relaxed look. He let his smile get a little looser and squeezed Barclay’s hand. “I was joking, Barclay.” He kept his voice soft, and Barclay looked relieved.

“It’s not _that_ bad a name,” Barclay said after a moment, “If you were, uh, from New York and Italian it might be almost acceptable.”

“I’m from _Montana,_ Barclay. Do you have any idea what being named Lucky in Montana is like?”[7]

“Okay, yeah, that sounds kind of awful.”

“Please don’t tell Ned Chicane,” he said, half seriously. Chicane would be _insufferable_.

“I would never!” Barclay insisted. “Now that we’ve uh, got the urgent part out of the way do you wanna sit down? Not that I _mind_ standing in front of the boiler room of course, but the lodge has perfectly functional benches and I figure we might as well make use of them.”

“Oh, yes. Maybe it would’ve been smarter to let you meet me on the porch in the first place.”

“Hey, it was a plenty smart move. After all, it got you over to me quicker.” Barclay winked.[8]

“That was a terrible line and you should feel bad,” Stern responded, and began making his way toward the porch.

“So, given the fact that your first name’s Lucky and you clearly don’t much care for it, should I just…keep calling you Stern?” Stern sighed and stopped, one foot on the bottom step. He turned and looked Barclay in the eye.

“If I asked you on another date, would you say yes?” He asked.

“I…is this hypothetical or are you asking?”

“It was why I came to find you, actually,” Stern replied. Barclay squeezed his hand.

“Then yes, of course. I was just thinking earlier that we ought to go on a date on purpose for once, so yes.”

Stern snorted.

“Alright, one more question, then. How many dates would you have to go out with someone before you’d say you were dating them?”

“In general, or with you?” Barclay’s eyes crinkled again, and Stern was _very_ doomed. “Because with you, I’d say, oh, two.”

“First of all, you’re lucky I find you charming enough for you to pull that line off. Second, in that case don’t call me Stern. You’re right it’s…it feels wrong.”[9]

“Alright, so what should I call you?”

“Well. Hmm. Stanley, yes. Call me Stanley.”

“Is that a middle name?” Barclay asked. Stern sighed, rubbing his thumb against Barclay’s.

“One of them,” he admitted.

“ _One of?_ ”

“My full name is Lucky Luciano Stanley Stewart Stern. Stanley’s always felt like the least awkward one.”

Barclay raised an eyebrow.

“Can’t say I’ve ever met anyone with three middle names before. Was there some story behind it, or could your parents just not pick?”

“And I can’t say I’ve ever had anyone ask my life’s story quite as straightforwardly as you have.” Barclay’s mouth opened as if to apologize. “I was joking. I _am_ capable of that, you know.”

Barclay laughed softly.

“You don’t have to tell me either way,” he said. “I’m just curious.”

Stern took a deep breath and sat down, pulling Barclay down with him. He’d intended to get all the way to a proper seat, but he needed to get this out before he lost his nerve and he was _not_ saying all this standing halfway up a set of stairs.

“I know I don’t have to. I’m going to.”[10] Barclay squeezed his hand. “Something you need to know for this to make sense is that my parents are sentimental people. Most everyone at The Bureau that’s met both me and my father have asked if I’m sure we’re related.”

“Forgive me for assuming things about your coworkers, but that sounds like a dick move,” Barclay said seriously.

“I don’t mind the joke. But also, there’s a reason I’m here with you and not any of them.”

Barclay grinned again and leaned forward to press a quick kiss on Stern’s lips.

“Well thank god they’re dicks, then,” he said fondly. Stern blinked.

“I. Yes. Anyway, my parents are sentimental, and they always wanted to have two children. My mother was supposed pick the first one’s middle name and they’d get my father’s last name, and they’d both have to agree on the first one. Then they’d switch for the other one.” Stern shrugged. “But as it turns out my mom was barely able to have _me,_ and a younger sibling was out of the question. So I have three middle names: my mom picked Luciano…[11] Well, she’d picked a different one, but I asked her for a more fitting one once, well,” he paused, searching for a wording that would make it sound like he’d meant to admit this all along. “Once I started presenting in a way more…accurate to how I see myself.”[12]

Stern watched Barclay carefully. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then as if he wanted to ask something[13], and then he nodded. And that was that. Stern tried to hide his sigh of relief and continued.

“Stanley was my dad’s choice, because it was a family name, and Stewert is my mom’s last name.”[14] Stanley laughed, just a little. “My dad used to joke that one of them must have some kind of foresight, giving me two boys’ names before they even knew.”

“And Lucky?”

“Well you see, I uh. Was actually lying when I said today was the first time I’d heard your joke.” As irritating as it had been carrying that name around, and as little as he wanted to go around advertising it, he found himself smiling as he said, “they named me Lucky because they were lucky to have me.”

“Huh,” Barclay said after a moment. “That’s…that’s real sweet, actually.”

“Yes, it is. Which is why I let my _parents_ call me that even if it’s _terrible.”_ Stern let out a short laugh and elbowed Barclay. “You know, I feel like I always end up dumping heavy things on you when we talk. Next time you’ll have to tell me something to keep it fair.”

“Yeah,” Barclay said hesitantly.

“You don’t have to, of course.”

“Of course,” Barclay nodded. “Uh, maybe. Later, though.”

In a sudden burst of noise, the door Barclay had come out of early opened and Duck, Ned, and Aubrey strolled out. Barclay groaned beside him, and suddenly Stern found himself reconsidering his decision that the boiler explanation wasn’t suspicious. He shook himself. There had to be some explanation, and if Barclay wasn’t giving it to him then, well, it must not have been important.

“Hey, guys,” Barclay said, and Stern suddenly realized that the three interlopers might actually notice them sitting so close. Stern pulled his hand out of Barclay’s. He wasn’t ashamed of what they were, exactly, but he had an image to uphold. _Dating a potential suspect is unprofessional_ he reminded himself, even though that hadn’t stopped him before. He could at least stop anyone else from finding out exactly how much he was letting himself slip.[15]

Barclay looked a bit hurt as they parted, and Stern winced but said nothing as the trio. Aubrey waved at him cheerily for some reason, and Stern raised his hand in halfhearted acknowledgement. As the door shut behind them, Stern thought about taking Barclay’s hand again, but that didn’t seem like adequate apology. So he settled on a literal one instead.

“I’m sorry Barclay. I just…”

Barclay held up his hands and smiled, the edges of it a little bit sad.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I get it, you need time before we tell anyone.”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Stern was fairly sure that saying ‘we probably _can’t_ _ever_ tell anyone because this entire thing is a long term lapse of judgement and professional conduct’ wouldn’t go over well. Also, just thinking of it made him feel like an asshole, on account of he was pretty sure it meant he _was_ an asshole. His hands twitched with the urge to take notes on _something._ “I’m sorry, I-“

“Don’t,” Barclay said, very gently, like he honestly believed Stern had nothing to feel sorry for.

“No, I-“

“ _Stanley,_ ” Barclay interrupted. “If you’re not ready you’re not ready. That’s fine.”

“Alright. Yeah.” Despite the circumstances, Stern felt a surge of warmth as Barclay used the name they’d agreed on. Then he felt _bad_ about feeling a surge of warmth.

“I should go in,” Barclay said, and Stern wished he couldn’t hear how disappointed Barclay sounded or how much he was trying to hide it. Before Barclay could stand, Stern put a hand on his cheek and kissed him softly. If Barclay wasn’t going to let him _say_ he was sorry, he could at least show him.

He must not have ruined things too badly, because Barclay leaned into the kiss before withdrawing, and he laid a hand briefly on Stern’s shoulder as he left. As soon as the door slammed, Stern took a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, fell back onto the porch, and groaned.[16]

 

 

[1] Barclay was obviously uncomfortable even standing next to it with Stern there. Which, as an FBI agent, should have made Stern suspicious. But as someone who’d gone to find Barclay with the specific intention of asking him out on a proper date, he figured he could ignore it.

[2] Did Barclay not want to see him anymore? Did he have some other person he was dating that he hadn’t told about Stern, and they’d decided they weren’t okay with sharing? Was he secretly a cryptid? No, that last one was vanishingly unlikely.

[3] Shit. Fuck. Alright, in retrospect “doing this on a last name basis” was a pretty stupid assumption. 

[4] He didn’t mention that plenty of FBI agents called each other by their first names, and everyone in UP kind of assumed anyone who didn’t was kind of an asshole. Which, seeing as they were all kind of assholes _also_ , Stern didn’t mind too much.

[5] Stern almost thought “lucky.” Fortunately he didn’t, because if he made a pun about his own name then he’d have to go live in the woods and never talk to any human being ever again. Maybe he and Bigfoot could be friends.

[6] They’d only been on two dates, hadn’t they? How was he feeling this out of sorts after two dates? He was absolutely doomed. He was absolutely doomed and he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

[7] Bad.

[8] Absolutely doomed.

[9] As aware as he was that this relationship could only last for as long as he was in Kepler, Stern was determined to do this _right._

[10]Stern had only partially been joking when he said no one had ever asked. Almost everyone who cared to know the story were family members who got it from his parents, aside from one of the people who interviewed him when he was first applying for the FBI who had been more interested in the name he had _changed_ than the fact he had three. There was something a little thrilling about  a person wanting to know something this small about him, and Stern wondered if that made him pathetic or not. Then he decided he didn’t care.

[11] That was possible the most awkward way he had ever come out. But he had wanted to get it out of the way, make sure this was a relationship that would  _work._

[12] That would give him plausible deniability, if this went badly. Not much, but it was all he could manage.

[13] The most optimistic guess Stern could manage was _how did you get into The FBI?_ The answer was _It’s a long story,_ and one he wanted to tell. Probably. Later.

[14] Given the careful consideration his parents put into making sure they both had an equal part in the naming, this had surprised Stern for most of his childhood. Then, his mom had informed him that, seeing as she had multiple nieces and nephews and his father was an only child, they’d decided to have him carry on the last name Stern. Which most definitely had _not_ put any pressure on him to have children. None at all.

[15] The part of him that wasn’t a coward reminded him helpfully that this was exactly what being ashamed of something meant. Stern decided he’d think about that later.

[16] Belatedly, he realized he hadn’t managed to properly ask Barclay on that date. Well, too late now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was going to just be fluff but then I remembered Stern is an emotionally stunted little man. Also, the whole trans thing my or may not have been smoothly handled, but I realized after posting this chapter in its original incarnation that I wanted Stern to be transgender on account of...well, I am, and this is my fic so I may as well have fun? So edited it in. Not the smoothest, but I’ve actually come out to people in weirder ways.


	5. Menaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay is not sulking. Neither is Stern. The Pine Guard are all absolute menaces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, trying to listen to episodes where Duck and Mama talk to make sure I'm not totally butchering their character voices: Mmmmm guess I'll die.  
> I've had this chapter written for days, but then I got distracted playing Tomb Raider and never edited it.  
> Also over the next little while I'll be going back and taking the indentation out of the last chapters, because I tried to check whether I'd remembered to put a line into a previous chapter while on my phone and it was. A bad reading experience. (I used to have them because not having indentations while writing in word is uh. I don't like it)

 “I’m fine,” Barclay insisted, scrubbing at the plate in his hands with a diligence that he was sure the three Pine Guard members standing behind him would recognize as meaning he was _not_ fine. Well, he’d managed to sound sort of unbothered, at least. Maybe that would throw them off long enough to stop them from saying anything.

“Mhm,” Duck said slowly, “how’s about you put that down before you scrub a hole in it. Pretty sure you’d feel bad about it later if you did.”

No such luck, then. Barclay sighed, dropping the offending dish into the soapy water of the sink and shutting off the tap. He turned around with the full intention of telling all three of them to stop trespassing in his kitchen, but then he caught sight of the worry on their faces and felt guilty for that thought. Then _he_ got worried, because underneath that worry he caught a hint of indignation that could only mean one thing. One thing that most _definitely_ was not good.

“No. No, no, no. Absolutely not, whatever you’re planning, just stop thinking about it right now,” he said, wiping off his hands with a towel and waggling his finger at them. From his spot leaning against the stove, Duck raised an eyebrow.

“We have absolutely no idea what you mean,” he said innocently, or at least tried to. Because it was Duck, he got about halfway through the sentence before his voice cracked.

“Yeah!” Aubrey added, helpfully. “We most definitely aren’t planning anything!” Barclay thought about telling her to get off his counter, but found he didn’t have the energy.

“Of course! Us, planning? What do we look like, people with a capability for thinking ahead?” Ned asked. Barclay shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and wishing for the first time in a few months that The Pine Guard was still just him and Mama. Which was also a little unfair, so he gave up trying to get rid of his headache and looked back up at them.

“Listen, guys. I appreciate the thought. And I’m touched you’re worried, I really am. But I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not!” Aubrey exclaimed, nearly unbalancing herself as she gestured emphatically. “Everyone can see it, even Dr. Harris Bonkers PhD.” She pulled her rabbit out of a hat sitting behind her, and the good doctor stared at him with bright eyes that did indeed look vaguely worried.

“Why the hell’s your rabbit in my kitchen, Aubrey?”

“Dr. Harris Bonkers PhD obeys the laws of _no_ man, Barclay.” Barclay stared at her. After a moment she let out a short laugh, and shrugged. “Well, actually I set up the trick to cheer you up before you came in here and I didn’t want to waste all my prep.”

“Listen, my good friend,” Ned chimed in in what he doubtless thought was a comforting tone of voice, “we can read between the lines. You went to speak with Agent Stern,” all three of them frowned at the name, “and then when we next saw you, you were distressed.”

“I’m not-“

“You look all droopy, Barclay.” Aubrey stroked Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD. “Normally when people look droopy I ask if they want to pet the doctor, do you want to pet the doctor?” Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD’s nose twitched.

Barclay wondered what exactly had happened in his life that brought him here, moping about an FBI agent in the kitchen; a con-man, a park ranger, a magician, and a rabbit that was most definitely a health code violation all there in an attempt to comfort him. Then he gave in and went to pet the doctor, and it did in fact help a little.

“Okay, maybe I’m not fine. But there’s not really anything you can do.”

“Umm, of course there is! You’re our friend, and if there’s one thing I know from all the movies it’s that when a young woman’s friend gets hurt by a boy it’s her solemn duty to destroy that boy’s life,” Aubrey declared. Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD purred softly, and Barclay hoped it wasn’t in agreement.

“Now Aubrey, I don’t think there’s any need to _destroy_ Agent Stern’s life. Just, uh, make it miserable for a day or two,” Duck said, a tone of obviously false reprimand in his voice.

“No one is making Sta-“ Barclay cut himself off, “Stern’s life miserable.”

“Oooh, so you did get his first name? Tell us so we can use it for blackmail!”

“Absolutely _not,_ Aubrey! Also, why are you wearing those indoors?”

Aubrey squinted at him in confusion, then reached up and touched the sunglasses which Barclay suddenly realized she’d been wearing for at least a week.

“Oh, these? Haha, to be honest I forgot I had them on.” She grinned nervously.

“You know I’d been wonderin’ about those, but I didn’t wanna bring it up on account of I figure you had your reasons,” Duck said. Barclay shook his head.

“I do!”

“And what are they?” Ned asked.

“That is a revelation for another time and place!”

“You know what, never mind,” Barclay said. He realized then that he was still petting Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD. He continued to pet Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD. “The point is, no revenge.”

“But-“

“Aubrey, he hasn’t actually done anything wrong _.”_

“We been over this, Barclay,” Duck interrupted sympathetically, “we can tell-“

“I’m not saying I’m not upset! But he hasn’t done anything _wrong_. He just isn’t ready for all of you to know about us, and that’s fine. It’s _disappointing,_ but you know, I can’t _make_ him.” Barclay didn’t say that what had hurt wasn’t his decision, but the feeling of Stanley’s hand jerking out of his and the desperate look in his eyes as he kissed Barclay. As if he were afraid that was all it would take to make Barclay lose interest in him.

“You know what, that’s very adult of you.”

“Thank you Duck.”

“ _Why,_ though? Is it, uh…” Aubrey moved her hands in an incomprehensible series of gestures. Ned, for some godforsaken reason, seemed to understand them completely.

“Hmm, that would be a reasonable explanation, young Aubrey. But doubtful. You _see,_ I may or may not have snuck into his room while he was off being a menace to society-“

“Ned, Stern is an FBI agent. Pretty sure he can’t be a menace,” Duck interrupted.

“Oh, he is Duck. He most definitely is. But either way, I snuck into his room to search for any indication of his motives-“

“His motives are to hunt Bigfoot, Ned, he’s told us at least fifteen separate times,” Barclay felt a migraine coming on.

“Yes, well, that’s not the point of this story. The point is I discovered a series of as they say ‘fun ties’ in his suitcase and two of them are rainbow.”

“ _Whaaaaaat_? Stern has fun ties? Why doesn’t he ever wear his fun ties? Barclay, why doesn’t Stern wear his fun ties?”

“Why would Barclay know that?” Duck asked.

“He only wears them to parties, because he doesn’t want to ‘ruin the mood’ by looking too serious.”

“ _Why do you know that?_ ” Duck asked.

“We realized we didn’t actually know all that much about each other so we played a few rounds of two truths one lie.”

“If I weren’t mad at him I’d say we should invite him to New Years,” Aubrey said. She pouted. “I want to see his fun ties.”

“Well, that was a fun little digression and all. But now that we’ve confirmed that righteous indignation at Stern for not admitting his feelings isn’t disrespecting anyone’s process of affirming their own identities, can we get back to the uh...righteous indignation?” Duck asked.

“ _Please.”_ Barclay wondered if he could manage to lure them down to the cellar and lock them in the panic room until everything blew over. It was a very, very tempting idea.

“Please get back to the indignation?” Ned asked. Barclay couldn’t tell whether he was being deliberately dense.

“You know what I mean. No vengeance on my boyfriend for not holding hands with me in public. _Especially_ no life-destroying vengeance.” He glared at Aubrey.

“Okay _fine,_ I won’t _destroy_ him.” Aubrey looked legitimately disappointed for a moment. Then thoughtful. And then he saw her get an idea, which was never a good thing.

“ _Aubrey,_ ” Barclay pleaded.

“We’re not gonna destroy him! I promise. Super promise. Pinky promise?” Aubrey held up a pinkie. Barclay hesitantly took it, worried by the fact that she still looked far too gleeful for _anyone’s_ safety.

“Yes, we all swear on pain of…well, not death but something bad,” Ned added. Duck nodded. Well, the ranger didn’t look like he was going to sweat right out of his uniform, which meant _he_ was probably being honest at least. Even if the sudden turn away from being just as petty as the rest of them felt suspicious.

“Make sure these two don’t do anything I’d have to tattle to Mama about, Duck.” If Barclay could get Duck to make a straight-faced promise, then everything would be fine.

“Yeah, of course. Won’t be up to the kind of mischief Mama’d object to.”

 Half an hour later, Barclay realized trusting Duck was a bad idea. He’d just finished the dishes, when he felt a sudden portent of doom. A moment later, he realized it was probably three portents. Four, if they’d dragged Mama into it. Barclay took a deep breath and stuck his head out the kitchen door.

At first, it seemed like his instincts were wrong. Everything was in order in the lobby: Aubrey was sitting backwards in a chair near Dani and Jake, Ned and Duck had their heads bowed over some book, and Stanley was marking up an edition of The Lamplighter with a red pen. Then, as he leaned back to remove something from his briefcase, Stanley’s hair was ruffled by a soft breeze and the paper floated off his table. Barclay found himself imagining the huff of breath Stanley would give as he reached down to pick it up. He put it back on the table. It blew off again. His hands flexed. He picked it up. It blew off again.

Well, Aubrey hadn’t _lied._ This wasn’t life destroying. In fact, under any other circumstances he’d have been impressed at her restraint. Stanley bent to pick up the paper, and a stronger wind blew everything off the table. Barclay looked straight at Aubrey until she met his eyes, and she grinned brightly. He sighed, squared his shoulders, and walked over to her.

“You pinky promised,” he said lowly. Jake and Dani stared at him in confusion. Barclay spared a moment to be grateful that at the very least Aubrey hadn’t spilled everything to them.

“He’s a big kid, he’ll be fine,” Aubrey replied casually, wiggling her fingers again. The papers Stanley was trying to gather up floated a few feet off.

“You and I both know this was not the spirit of our agreement,” Barclay insisted. Aubrey raised an eyebrow at him, and he knew his reprimand was not as certain as he had wanted it to be.

“I was right! You’re mad at him too!”

“I’m not, Aubrey. I told you-“

“Yeah but…uh, Jake, Dani, could you two give us a second? Official Pine Guard stuff.”

“Aww, but-“

“Of course,” Dani cut Jake off. She stood, kissed the top of Aubrey’s head, and dragged Jake away. Barclay waited for Aubrey to stop blushing before continuing.

“I most definitely am not mad at him.” She raised an eyebrow. “I told you, I’m disappointed, but that’s my issue. Not his.”

“Oh my _god,_ Barclay. Stop being so _understanding_. I know you’re perfectly capable of letting yourself be spiteful on account of, you know, the fact that you still put sick burns on Ned every once in a while.”

“I’m glad you think my burns are sick, but that doesn’t mean…” Barclay trailed off at her _look._ He wondered if she’d learned it from Mama. She hadn’t fully mastered it yet, but it was still powerful enough to get him to stop. She gestured for him to turn around, and once he had she twitched her hand again, and Barclay could practically feel Stanley trying not to swear out loud as The Lamplighter hit him in the face. Despite himself, Barclay snorted. “Alright, fine. Yeah, I’m a little petty. But you can’t keep doing this.”

“Why not?” Aubrey asked, the impressive aura she’d conjured up just a moment ago evaporated as if it were never there. He’d almost forgotten she was a _stage_ magician, not just an actual magician.

“Well, two reasons. Actually, you know what? I’m only giving this talk once.” He turned to Ned and Duck, who were pretending they weren’t watching any of this. He gestured toward the seats Dani and Jake had vacated, and they begrudgingly came over. “ _First,_ despite the fact that _against my better judgement_ I am admitting that I’m feeling just a _microscopic_ amount of upset that Stern doesn’t want to tell anyone about us, I don’t want him miserable on account of I’d still like to be dating him. Second, you’re using magic on a guy whose job is to find anything or anyone involved in paranormal shit and arrest them.”

Aubrey smiled sheepishly.

“Uh, whoops?”

She didn’t look nearly as concerned as she probably should have been, and Barclay almost mentioned Stanley’s admission that his entire job was killing monsters. Then he realized Mama would almost definitely suplex Stanley out of the building if she knew.

“Alright, fine. We won’t do any magic-y shit, or like. Mind games or whatever. Can we be passive-aggressive, though?” Duck asked.

“Duck’s great at that!” Aubrey exclaimed.

Barclay sighed.

“The only reason I’m not locking you all out of the lodge ‘till you get off this is that you are, against my better judgement, my friends. So _please._ Don’t do anything to mess with him.” Barclay had a realization at that moment and glared at Duck. “Wait, you said you weren’t going to cause trouble! How the hell did you lie about that?”

Duck shrugged.

“I said I wouldn’t do nothin’ that Mama’d be upset about. So I went to Mama and I said ‘hey, we’re gonna fuck with Stern,’ and she said ‘tell me when you start I wanna watch.’” Duck leaned over and said more loudly, “Hey Mama!” Barclay turned and caught sight of Mama at the top of the steps. She waved casually, almost like she wasn’t a traitor.

Ned and Duck stood and went back to their own tables as if they had done nothing wrong. As they left, Barclay let his head fall to the table. He groaned and wished for death.

* * *

 

As Stern crouched down to gather his things, he wondered if there wasn’t some unrecorded weather-controlling cryptid in the area. Another breeze fluttered past him and he whipped his head toward it in an attempt to catch sight of the culprit. His eyes settled on a small gap between two logs in the wall. Almost as if it was just a draft, which would have been plausible if not for the fact that he sat at this table almost every day.[1]

He picked up the last few papers and went back to his seat, flipping open his notebook and writing “Potential new phenomena: wind based, details unknown” at the top of a fresh page. He’d mention it in his weekly report to Agent Richmond. She would almost certainly tell him it was nothing but, well. If he was stewing over that, it would be the perfect way to keep his mind off all of _this_.

Stern glanced over[2] to where Barclay was sitting. The man had his forehead pressed against a table, and Little was patting his back comfortingly. Stern’s left hand crinkled the edges of the paper beneath it, and after a moment he had to force himself to let go of his pencil when his hand started aching from gripping it too tightly. He tore his eyes off Barclay to stare at the wall and tried to remember one of the department’s mindfulness exercises.[3]

What little calm he’d managed to acquire was soon torn from him when he felt a glare on the back of his neck. Slowly, he looked in the direction of the hostile energy, and he locked eyes with one Duck Newton. Normally, Newton was one of the least threatening presences at Amnesty Lodge, most likely on account of the fact that he also worked for the government and therefore had at least a _little_ respect for the law.[4] On top of that he was terrible at eye contact, so even when he did stare it wasn’t difficult to get him to look away. _Now,_ though, Newton met his gaze coolly for several seconds. Then he raised his eyebrow and turned back to his conversation with Ned Chicane.

Stern shivered just a little and went back to his review of The Lamplighter. Reviewing the issues should have been an inconsequential task, given that it was a one page paper, and yet every time Stern pulled out an edition he spent far more time annotating it to be healthy. Sighing, he crossed out an incorrect usage of the word “two,” and then circled a passage that absolutely butchered all existing lore about hidebehinds.[5]

A few minutes later, he felt eyes on him again. This time it was Little, who had her mouth pursed with displeasure. Barclay rose from his seat and moved off toward the kitchens. Had he told Little? No, definitely not. He’d seemed to understand Stern’s hesitance, after all, and even as the thought popped into Stern’s head he felt like an ass for thinking it. But what if he’d somehow managed to be completely wrong about every aspect of Barclay’s character? Little had just been comforting him, after all. Maybe, just maybe, it was about  _this._

Stern swallowed. Everyone knew everyone at the lodge, and if she disapproved of him being with Barclay[6] then everyone would probably find out. Yet, as with Newton, Little said nothing. After a few moments she looked away, stroking the rabbit in her lap. Stern put it out of his mind and went back to feeling bad about thinking ill of Barclay.

Then, a few minutes later he caught Chicane staring at him. A few minutes after that it was back to Newton, then Little, then Chicane again. After about ten minutes of this cycle it was almost a relief when instead of just eyes he felt a physical presence looming behind him. The proprietor of Amnesty Lodge herself stepped around him and took a seat at the table.

“First off,” the woman known only a Mama said, “Barclay never told me nothin’. I guessed about you two soon as I saw ya’ll that morning, on account of he was absolutely useless for three hours. So you don’t gotta worry about his honesty. But you do gotta worry about the fact that I know about the two of you.”

“Um,” Stern managed.[7]

“Now, Barclay and I have been friends for fifteen years so when I say he’s got a very specific sort of miserable for when he’s having _relationship troubles_ what I’m saying is he’s having relationship troubles. What’d you do?”

Stern felt his hands twitch back toward his pencil and forced them to still.

“It wasn’t intentional,” he started. She raised an eyebrow.[8] “I swear, I wouldn’t do anything with the intent to hurt him.”

“And yet Barclay’s off mopin’ in the kitchen and you’re not going to apologize to him.”

He winced, ever so slightly.

“It was…there may or may not have been an opportunity for Little, Chicane, and Newton to find out about us. Barclay was obviously comfortable with that. I wasn’t.”

“There a reason for that?” She asked. It was his turn to raise an eyebrow at her. “Fine, is there a _good_ reason for that?”

Stern felt himself begin to slump, and he must not have caught himself quickly enough. Mama sighed in something that might be understanding, though her hard expression didn’t change.

“Listen, I can’t tell you to do things you don’t want to do. But I can say this: Kepler’s a small town, and in small towns flings that happen in the dark don’t last long. Hell, even if they did, you can’t make Barclay sneak around same as Barclay can’t make you tell anyone. So I want you to sit here and think good and hard about just how invested you are in whatever hang-up you’ve got, then decide whether it’s one you can get over before I have to start advisin’ Barclay to break up with you.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t already advising him to break up with me,” he said dully. She obviously wasn’t fond of him, or them, and he was fairly certain she never had been. And yet when he said this she let out a surprised laugh instead of hardening further.

“Yeah, well. Told him I don’t think it’s a good idea to be dating your type, but tellin’ him you’re a bad idea and tellin’ him you’re an idea he shouldn’t be having at all are two different levels.”

“My type?” Stern asked, because he was looking for any rabbit hole that could delay the introspection she was asking of him.

“Men with masks instead of faces,” she said simply, then stood and patted him on the shoulder once. “Now, remember what I said and don’t take too long. I’d hate for time to take the decision out of both of ya’ll’s hands.”

Stern froze under her touch and didn’t dare move after she left, not until his lungs burned from holding his breath. He exhaled as surreptitiously as possible, staring at the space she had left behind. Part of him wanted to chase her down and tell her he _knew_ he was running out of time. He’d be running out of time no matter what he did, at least as far as Barclay was concerned.

If Stern never found Bigfoot in Kepler, his superiors would eventually send him off. If he _did_ find Bigfoot, then he’d hunt Bigfoot until one of the two of them was dead. Given everything he’d seen and heard, he couldn’t be sure which one that would be, and either way at the end he’d be leaving. He couldn’t delay his work just because he’d been an idiot and developed feelings. Maybe on another case, but not this one.

The only choice which was both logical and ethical was to go into the kitchen and break up with Barclay immediately.[9] Stern analyzed that option and decided it sounded kind of bad, actually, so he searched for another one. There was the option which he’d resigned himself to until about fifteen minutes ago, which was to assume he’d be forced to leave before Barclay got sick of waiting. Now, it sounded somehow even worse than the first option, on account of he had identified four people that were probably willing to commit homicide on Barclay’s behalf.[10]

No, fear wasn’t the reason, he realized. While Mama’s overpowering presence was what made him analyze his motives, it hadn’t been the threat of violence which had him doubting them. No, it had been that ominous parting statement. _A mask instead of a face._ He put a hand over his lips[11] and wondered what he looked like from the outside. Moreover, he wondered what he looked like from the outside that made a woman with piercing eyes like Mama see nothing when she looked at him, and Barclay see something worth continuing to look at.

As far as Mama and Barclay knew his hesitance was temporary. He wondered what they would think if he revealed it wasn’t. If they knew he was prepared to hold his tongue forever to ensure no one aside from Barclay realized that underneath his composure was something lacking. Not that Barclay realized it was a lack, not yet. Just like he hadn’t realized the unfairness of what Stern had almost asked of him.

Stern heard the distinctive creak of the kitchen door opening and turned toward it despite his better judgement. Barclay emerged and made his way over to Newton and Chicane’s table. He looked exactly the same as he had earlier that day, and Stern wondered if that was because Mama had exaggerated his condition or if Stern was just awful at dealing with human beings. He decided it didn’t matter as he stood and crossed the room.

What mattered was the look of surprise on Barclay’s face when he caught sight of Stern. Stern ignored the looks Newton and Chicane were giving him and hoped that surprise didn’t mean he’d accidentally broken something irreparably.

“It occurs to me we were interrupted earlier,” he began.

“Yeah?” There was something unreadable in his voice, something Stern didn’t have time to chase.

“We had discussed…” Stern shook his head, discarding the careful sentences he’d been building in his head on the way over. “Listen, is there a movie theater nearby?”

“Yeah, ‘bout three blocks past the Lutheran Church, quarter mile from the river between the gas station and the…aw shit you weren’t askin’ me were you?”

Stern took a deep breath and ignored Newton.

“I was wondering, Barclay. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone to the movies, and I thought I’d like to go.” He swallowed. “With you. As a date.”

Brightness unfolded across Barclay’s face. He reached halfway to Stern, then hesitated, so Stern closed the distance and took his hand.

“I suppose I could do that, Agent Stern,” Barclay said fondly.

“I told you that you didn’t have to call me that,” Stern said, quietly. That had been another thing he’d meant to keep secret, but this was just the day for letting out secrets, apparently. Or maybe it was just that Barclay was the person to let secrets out _for_.

“Alright then, Stanley, I suppose I could do that.”

“Well, I suppose we’re _lucky_ this all worked out,” Ned Chicane cut in, waggling his eyebrows. Stern saw Little mouth  _what does that mean_ at Newton, who shrugged.

“How the _hell_ did you overhear that?” Barclay asked, thankfully before Stern could start doubting his discretion again.

“Oh, I was listening at the door the whole time,” Chicane replied blithely.

“I told you I’d murder you if you followed me up those steps Ned Chicane,” Barclay said through gritted teeth.

“Well technically you said you’d convince Stern to arrest him,” Newton added, rather unhelpfully.

“All three of you are menaces,” Barclay shook his head, “no, all four of you are menaces. This is Mama’s fault too.”

“Wait, did you tell them?” Stern asked, aware his voice was probably sharper than was fair.

“Nah, that was my fault,” Newton said. “I saw you two lookin’ at each other and it seemed pretty fond, and I assumed it was pretty obvious so I wasn’t as careful with the realization as I should’ve been. Sorry about that.”

He said it so contritely that Stern couldn’t even bring himself to be offended.[12]

“Are we done pretending we don’t know?” Little shouted from her table across the room. Coolice and Synclaire were watching the proceedings unfold in a way that reminded him of his aunt’s reaction to unbelievable twists in her soap operas. She hopped up with a little too much enthusiasm and bounded over with her rabbit perched on her shoulder.[13] “Thank _god._ Hey are we still mad at him? I want to know because keeping the murder face up is really hard when I’m near Dani.”

“Yeah we’re cool,” Newton replied. “Anyway, what was it Ned was listenin’ to that he wasn’t supposed to be listenin’ to?”

“Why you see, Stanley is not in fact his first name, his first name is-“

Chicane’s voice grew muffled as Newton slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Okay never mind, don’t care.”

“Aw, but I want to know!” Little insisted.

“Nah.” Newton shrugged. “Don’t really matter none anyways.” He turned his attention to Stern and said, “Don’t rightly remember if we got properly introduced. I’m Duck Newton. Call me Duck. It’s a nickname,” he threw a glare at Chicane, “which is why I ain’t particularly interested in first names people don’t wanna be called by.”

Chicane made a noise that vaguely sounded like “alright, alright,” and Duck removed his hand.

“This menace is Ned which most definitely ain’t his first name but you probably already have that figured and I don’t know the real one anyhow.”

”You've known it the whole day and you never _told_ me?” Aubrey hissed, in a voice she probably assumed was too quiet to hear.

”I was waiting for the proper time and place." Ned sighed dramatically. "I’ve been looking for an opening all day, and now I don't even get to use it!!”

“And that’s Aubrey.”

“Hi!” She waved, like she hadn’t been having a conversation about him two seconds before.

Stern looked at Duck thoughtfully, then glanced over at Barclay. Well, he supposed he’d started this whole mess in an attempt to make people at the lodge like him. He may as well try and finish that job.

“I’m Stanley,” he said, “Stanley Stern.”

 

[1] Yes, he’d kind of lost his head lately. But not _that_ much, and only when looking in Barclay’s direction. He’d sat at this table when Barclay wasn’t around plenty of times. Abruptly, Stern remembered he was feeling bad about Barclay, which meant it was time to distract himself.

[2] Read: stared at.

[3] It didn’t work very well.

[4] Perhaps “threatening” was too strong a word. He’d never felt threatened, just distrusted. He bit back a groan of frustration as he realized that on top of making him feel kind of like shit this little fiasco was making him _paranoid._

[5] For a moment, Stern wished that some cryptid would do him the favor of attacking the town to give him a distraction. Then he realized thinking that sort of thing would probably lead to a cryptid attacking the town and decided to consider something else.

[6] A rational part of him pointed out that any disapproval on her part was likely to be for different reasons than the one he was worried about. He ignored it.

[7] _Wow, very eloquent Agent Stern,_ Agent Stern thought spitefully. 

[8] It occurred to Stern that he had absolutely no obligation to answer this woman, or to answer her truthfully. Yet here he was. Under any other circumstances he’d try and get her to consider joining UP.

[9] Well, the only logical and ethical option was _actually_ to have aborted any attempts at getting closer to him as soon as feelings got involved, but that ship had sailed so long ago it was probably already docking in China.

[10] The fact that he was fairly certain the entirety of the lodge would help was also not encouraging him.

[11] There was no smile there, but he could feel the ghost of its shape under his palm.

[12] Damn him.

[13] Stern wondered if he should feel charmed by the fact that she had a ten pound rabbit somehow balanced on her shoulder, or alarmed that this young woman with a ten pound rabbit balanced on her shoulder had seemed fully willing to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now that they've handled actually getting into a relationship we can get into the whole elephant in the room. The bigfoot in the room.  
> This chapter ended up kind of of a monster (it's nearly 2x the length of the rest of them), and it's a little dialogue heavy on account of there's six characters in it instead of two, so hopefully that's not too overwhelming. The next chapter will be shorter (I started it already), and it will be coming out (ideally) either NYE or New Year's Day.


	6. A Toast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay mourns a loss. Stern gets trashed. It's New Years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I went back and removed all the indentations in previous chapters. Real sorry that some of them apparently didn't carry over from word at ALL, I commend you all for reading this fic with the absolute mess AO3 made of the formatting.  
> 2\. Likewise, I discovered that AO3 ate all my line breaks. Whoops. Now you'll all be able to tell when the POV switch actually, like, happens.  
> 3\. Stern's scene in this chapter is based off a tradition I remember hearing about as a child of, on the anniversary of someone's death or their birthday or whatever, all your friends get together and have a drink but also pour a glass for them and leave it on the bar. I googled this tradition midway through writing it and found nothing, and of the three people I talked to about it one said she had no idea what I was talking about, one said they remembered it but the glasses were supposed to be empty, and one person said they remembered the tradition as I described it. So if this thing doesn't exist then uh. Well, neither does Kepler. This is now a facet of the Amnesty fictional universe.  
> 4\. Also, I know canon implies (in ep 8) that Barclay and Thacker most likely never actually met but uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh I'm ignoring that. My fic my rules.

Stern hadn’t meant to spy. He’d only come downstairs because his weekly meeting with Agent Richmond had been infuriating as usual, and in his haste to get back to the lodge he’d forgotten files in the car.[1] And he’d only skipped the squeaky third step to spare both himself and Coolice another awkward encounter. This time, he’d remembered to perform a sweep of the room with his eyes and discovered he was not in fact alone, however. Barclay was standing behind the bar, with Mama seated at the end farthest from the stairs. One of the wall lights was on, casting orange light on their faces, and as much as Stern knew he should retreat he found himself held in place by the grimness in the set of their mouths. And so, despite his best intentions, he ended up spying.

Stern watched as Barclay produced a bottle and several tumblers from behind the bar, setting them in a line beginning at the seat in front of Mama and stretching out to her right. He filled hers and the one next to her quickly, and as he moved to the rest with a melancholy slowness Stern realized what they were doing.[2] Barclay poured one, two, three more glasses and then paused on the last. He looked at Mama, turned away so Stern couldn’t see his expression, and gestured helplessly. She shook her head, and his shoulders slumped as he set the bottle down.[3] After a moment of slouching before it, he picked up the glass.

Barclay circled to the front of the bar, thankfully still turned away from the steps as he went to sit directly to Mama’s right. He set the glass between them, resting his fingers along the rim for a moment and turning back to Mama, his head dipping in acknowledgement. She stood and moved down the line in measured steps, tapping her glasses against each full one on the bar with grim purpose.[4] When that was done she returned to her seat. She turned to Barclay, and though he could see neither of their faces Stern could imagine their expressions.

As one, they clinked glasses with the empty one between them. Then they tapped them against the bar suddenly and downed them in a smooth, synchronized motion. As the sound of them setting their cups back down dissipated, all was still and silent as a photograph of a tragedy.[5] Even the insects held their tongues.

Just when Stern’s limbs were considering releasing him the two of them stood, Barclay picking up his and Mama’s glasses and moving them behind the bar. Stern began to frantically think up excuses for why he was watching them, but they didn’t turn his way. They just turned and walked out the front door, taking the empty glass from the end of the line and the bottle of liquor with them. They didn’t bother to stop the door from slamming behind them as they left, and Stern used the cover of that noise to breathe again without fear of being discovered.

Stern watched the door as he moved toward the abandoned glasses. If they came back in he’d be able to convincingly deny watching them. Mama might disbelieve him either on principal or due to her uncanny sharpness, but he could make an attempt. Blessedly however, the door remained shut as he slid into Barclay’s vacant seat. He set his hands on the bar and remembered a dozen other bars where he’d done this or watched this done.[6] Most often, there was only one full glass sitting on the bar. Maybe two. He imagined Barclay and Mama sitting in their seats and tried to picture who would be at all the others. He wondered whether they had all gone at once, or if this night marked some other anniversary. He wondered what could have happened to stop them from pouring that last glass.

The bar had no answers, so after a moment he stood. He tapped a finger on the rim of each glass as he went, hoping that whoever should have drunk them wouldn’t disapprove of him too much. Then he slipped out of the lodge and made his way to his car.

Mama and Barclay were nowhere to be seen, which was fortunate in that he didn’t have to smile as he pretended not to have watched them. It was also unfortunate, because the fact that both of their vehicles were parked near his raised more questions about the evening. He eyed the door to the so-called boiler room and wondered where it actually led. Once again, he found no answer. Sighing, he returned to the lodge, nodding again at the glasses as he went.

In the morning they were gone, leaving behind rings of water stains as ghosts.

* * *

 

Barclay should have known inviting Aubrey, Duck, and Ned to the Amnesty Lodge New Year’s Eve party was a mistake. Or, rather, inviting Ned was. He would have still had to, but at least if he saw this coming he could have warned them about not causing trouble, and then blamed their actions solely on them instead of feeling just a bit responsible.

Instead here he was, vaguely guilty as Ned was dragged to the kitchen and dressed down by Mama for spiking the punch. Three times.

“Three times, Ned. Three. Times. How the hell did you even do that?” Mama asked, the only thing keeping her voice quiet the fact that it might ruin the party atmosphere if he didn’t.

“Well you _see,_ the first time was purely intentional. It’s not a party if someone doesn’t spike the punch, after all.”

“Feeling like you need to consume alcohol to have fun is _not_ rad, Ned,” Jake said. He was also confined to the kitchens after having tried to do a Heelie kick flip down the stairs earlier that night.

“I just meant it’s a tradition! Anyway, the second time was…” He suddenly trailed off.

“Yes?” Mama asked, and if not for the fact that fighting an abomination down one person would be more of a challenge than anyone wanted at the moment Barclay thought she might murder him on the spot.

“Well you see, in my business there is a saying.”

“Would you care to enlighten me?”

“Yes. It’s an old one. Snitches get-“

“It was my fault!” Aubrey piped in, appearing at the door. “I told him I never got to go to my senior prom at high school, and I felt like I missed out ‘cuz I didn’t get to kiss anyone cute or spike the punch. And he said ‘well, young Aubrey, you’ll have to ask Dani for that first thing, but’…” Aubrey trailed off, “anyway, beside the point. He was doing it for me. As a gesture of uh…teamly comraderie! You can’t punish him for that!”

Mama let out a groan which sounded a bit like a scream of frustration.

“Do I have to ground everyone in this goddamn building? I _will_ ground everyone in this goddamn building I don’t _care_ that I’m not your real mother.”

“Duck didn’t help,” Aubrey said helpfully.

“I wasn’t assumin’ he did until you said he didn’t,” Mama said.

“Wait. You said you spiked the punch three times,” Barclay realized. “What was the third time?”

“We had some left over and we thought ‘hey, we might as well put the rest in!’” Aubrey said, then seemed to realize this was a bad idea as Mama turned the full force of her glare at the young woman. Barclay sighed, and decided to spare Ned and Aubrey’s lives by changing the subject.

 “So, why _did_ you say Duck wasn’t involved, Aubrey?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention. He got called out on a forest ranger thing, and he just came back a minute or two ago. That’s actually why I came in here. He said it was Pine Guard business.”

“Thanks, Aubrey.” Duck appeared behind her in the doorway. “Anyway, sorry to interrupt whatever you’re all up to, but Juno called me up and she says she found a couple a footsteps in the snow while she was checkin’ up on,” he gave them a significant look, “a certain part of the woods we all have a special kind of interest in. Didn’t recognize what sort of creature coulda made ‘em, so she told me to keep an eye out.”

“Should we go and check it out now?” Aubrey asked, eyes worried.

“Naw,” Duck said. “Don’t think that’d do much good. She saw ‘em an hour or so ago, only called me just now when she lost the trail after a snowstorm kicked up. They’ll be gone by the time we can get there.”

Mama sighed.

“She at least tell you what they look like?”

“She didn’t. I’ll ask her when I go in tomorrow, but she didn’t mention it and I didn’t think to ask ‘till she’d already hung up.”

“Well, I suppose there’s nothing to be done now then.” Mama ran a hand down her face. “Duck, Jake, go out and enjoy the party, no use in getting everyone worried on New Year’s Eve. Ned, Aubrey, you’re gonna make a new batch of punch. _Without_ the extras this time.”

“That seems fair and I commend you for your mercy,” Ned said.

“Never said that was your only punishment, Ned. I just ain’t gonna worry about those things on the holidays. Now go back out before anyone thinks I’ve killed all of you, and you.” She pointed at Jake. “Don’t tell anyone about the tracks.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jake grinned nervously and left the room. Duck nodded sympathetically at Ned and Aubrey, then followed closely after. Mama made her way over to the quarantined punch bowl, and scooped a bit of it into a cup. She took a sip, then turned to Ned and Aubrey.

“Well shit. If it weren’t for the fact that it smells like you could preserve a goddamn corpse with it I’d call bullshit on it being spiked.”

“That would be Aubrey’s delicate touch, I believe.” Ned seemed to be experiencing some sort of fatherly pride. No, Ned was more of an uncle. Uncle-ry pride? Barclay wasn’t sure what someone would call that. He took the cup from Mama’s hand and drank from it. It indeed tasted like normal punch.

“How did you _do_ that?” He asked. Aubrey smiled, waving her fingers. Sparks flew out of them in the way that meant she was doing fake magic and not real magic.

“A magician never reveals her secrets.”

Mama looked outwardly like she was going to have a hernia, but underneath it Barclay could almost see something like nostalgia. He shook his head and decided he didn’t want to deal with that on a holiday. This was a time for the future, not the past.

“I’m gonna head back out, if you two mess up my kitchen...well, come up with your own idea of what I might do. I wanna keep it a surprise.” He smiled at their worried expressions and wondered how they managed to miss his bluff. Then he returned to the party, and for a brief time all was well. New Year’s Eve was one of Barclay’s favorite holidays, and aside from the fact that someone spiked the punch bowl every year – most likely why Mama was waiting to sentence Aubrey and Ned until tomorrow, since someone was going to end up in their position no matter what – everything tended to go smoothly.

Maybe he’d been lulled into complacency a bit _too_ much, however, because between the good conversations and the – thankfully less alcoholic than medical grade antiseptic, unlike the first batch – punch and snacks, Barclay missed the fact that Stanley had managed to down one and a half cups of the aforementioned medical grade antiseptic before Mama managed to remove it from the party.

To his credit, Stanley had intended to stay sober. Barclay had handed him a glass of whiskey at the beginning of the night, and up until Ned’s punch incident about an hour and a half in Stanley had sat at his table in the corner nursing it slowly and watching everyone else having fun.

Barclay had worried at first that he wasn’t enjoying himself. Stanley had been hesitant to come to the party, after all. But Aubrey, no longer hindered by the fact that she was supposed to be mad at Stern on Barclay’s behalf, had invited him in the hope that he wear one of his “fun ties.” He had, in fact, worn one of his fun ties, which was his usual black but littered with red, green, and blue fireworks.

“You know, nobody minds that you’re here. You can come and enjoy yourself if you want,” Barclay had said as soon as he realized it was Stanley’s intention to sit at his normal table and not interact with anyone whatsoever. He hadn’t even been lying. As soon as everyone at the lodge realized that Barclay had decided to trust Stanley, they’d all seemed to come to the conclusion he wasn’t dangerous. Barclay felt a little bad about that on account of Stanley would be plenty dangerous if he ever caught on to where exactly he was staying, but he couldn’t bring himself to correct them.

“Be that as it may,” Stanley had said, sounding unconvinced, “I still don’t know any of them particularly well. I’m not good at talking to strangers outside of work, Barclay. I can’t turn off the agent face, and everyone thinks I’m investigating them. People don’t want to be investigated on a holiday.”

He’d said all of that with the exact same expression he’d termed the “agent face,” of course, and so Barclay couldn’t help but to see his point.

“Do you want me to sit with you?” Barclay had asked, and Stanley let his real smile flicker through for a moment as he patted Barclay on the arm.

“Go have fun.”

So Barclay had left him alone. At first, he had been half sure Stanley’s insistence he was fine was just for Barclay’s sake, and he found himself glancing over several times. Each time, however, he’d only seen Stanley watching the room with a glass in hand, his notebook on the table and a contented look on his face. Eventually he realized he had begun staring at Stanley not out of worry, but simply to stare at Stanley.

After thirty minutes, Barclay had gotten distracted by Jake’s stunts, then by Moira asking him to help her find Auld Lang Syne among her books of holiday music, and then by Ned’s stunt with the punch. All three of these occurrences kept Stanley far enough out of Barclay’s mind that Barclay didn’t think to check on him for about an hour.

Then, Stanley had interrupted Barclay’s conversation with Aubrey, Duck, and Ned by stumbling over and curling an arm around Barclay’s shoulder. He had a smile on his face which looked more natural than any of the ones he’d managed in public before. Barclay felt a twinge of guilt for thinking of his boyfriend’s smiles as fake, despite the fact that it was both true and a fact that had come up multiple times during their short relationship. Then he realized that the fact his boyfriends smile wasn’t fake in public was most likely a _bad_ sign. Which made him feel bad all over again, even though it was still true.

“I’m sorry I’m interrupting,” Stanley told Barclay, thankfully in an inside voice, “but I think someone spiked the punch.”

“Yeah, that was Ned and I. Don’t worry, Mama already yelled at us for it.” Aubrey was trying to hold back her own smile, though Barclay could see her having to bite her lip against it when Stanley hummed in reply and leaned against him. Which meant she’d probably caught a glimpse of _Barclay’s_ expression in response to the feeling of Stanley’s warm body pressing against his side.

“Edmund Chicane,” Stanley said, and pointed at Ned. Ned looked nervous just to have a federal agent looking at him, and Barclay had no doubt that effect was only doubled by the fact that Aubrey just admitted he was the one who’d by the looks of it gotten Stanley _very_ drunk. Barclay was almost completely certain FBI agents couldn’t arrest people for putting obscene amounts of vodka in a bowl of punch, but for a moment he began to doubt himself.

“That is in fact my name, friend Stanley.” Ned was going for his ordinary nonchalance. He wasn’t doing a very good job.

“You’re a criminal, Edmund Chicane,” Stanley said, voice cheerful. Like it was a secret, and he was glad to have just figured it out.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ned said, inching away slowly and glancing at all the exits.

“You are,” Stanley insisted, then leaned in toward him and whispered at a normal conversational volume, “but you’re also a good man, I think. Don’t let anyone know I said that but you are. Sometimes there aren’t a lot of good men around, so try your best to keep being one.” He reached across the little circle of Pine Guard members, leaning as far forward as he could with his arm still around Barclay, and patted Ned on the shoulder. Ned looked like he was going to have a heart attack. “I don’t want to have to arrest you, after all. It would upset Barclay.”

Aubrey gave up trying to holder herself back and snickered.

“I’ll try my best?” Ned replied. “Hey, Barclay, am I hallucinating?”

“Duck!” Stern interrupted, pointing at Duck. “You are more competent than some of the people I have interviewed think.”

“Thanks?”

“And you’re a very bad liar. So congratulations! You aren’t Bigfoot.” Everyone shifted a bit uncomfortably at the mention of Bigfoot. “I am very glad you aren’t, too, because you know the forest extremely well and I would never catch you.”

“Ooh, ooh!” Aubrey exclaimed, raising her hand and jumping up and down just a little. “Drunk compliment me next!”

Stanley stared at her for a long moment. Then, he nodded to himself once.

“Your tricks on Saturday Night Dead were very good. You should have a magic show sometime, I’d like to see it.”

Aubrey gasped.

“You’re _right_! I haven’t had a real life magic show in forever! Guys, I need to do a magic show!”

“So long as you promise not to set anything in the lodge on fire this time, Aubrey,” Barclay warned. Then he sighed, “I should probably get Stanley upstairs. You three make sure not to do anything regrettable while I’m gone.”

“We probably will!” Aubrey replied, voice chipper. Ned grinned unconvincingly. Duck shrugged. It would have to be good enough, Barclay decided. He wrapped his arm around Stanley’s waist and carefully navigated him between Ned and Aubrey with little trouble aside from accidentally jostling Ned slightly. Then Barclay navigated them toward the stairs, praying no one would try and speak to them. Stanley would probably be embarrassed enough in the morning, no need to make it worse. Barclay’s prayers were granted, for once, and Stanley didn’t even stumble too much on the steps.

In front of Stanley’s door, Barclay carefully peeled Stanley’s arm off his shoulders and, once he was sure Stanley was relatively steady, reached for the door knob. This was where Barclay’s luck ran out.

“You lock your door?” Barclay asked.

“Mm, double lock it, actually. Since Ned broke in.”

“Wait, you knew he broke in?”

Stanley nodded, then narrowed his eyes, then seemed to come to a realization.

“ _You_ knew he broke in?”

“He asked about your ties,” Barclay replied, “anyway, why didn’t you say anything to him?”

“He didn’t find the _important_ stuff. Besides, if he’s doing stupid crimes he won’t have time to do…” He gestured vaguely, “big crimes. But I can’t let him just break in _again,_ because next time I might not have my notebook on me.”

Barclay nodded, wishing he could have this conversation with sober Stanley.

“Well, do you have both of those keys on you?”

Stanley reached into his pocket, then frowned.

“They aren’t there.”

By the time Stanley finished checking all his packets, Barclay had a pretty good guess as to what was going on. While there was no evidence Ned was involved, Stern and Ned had come into physical contact briefly and that was exactly the sort of thing Ned would do. He probably thought he was performing some kind of service, even.

“We’ll go to my room,” he declared, taking Stanley’s hand and pulling him in that direction. It meant going back down the stairs, and Stanley _did_ trip once or twice this time, but they once again reached their destination without too much trouble. Thank whatever higher powers may or may not exist. Barclay opened the door and ushered Stanley inside.

Stanley went to remove his shoes and nearly tipped over, so Barclay put his hands on Stanley’s shoulders and gently pushed him down to sit on one side of the bed. He made short work of removing the offending footwear, though Stanley had managed to fumble a knot into one of the laces, and then helped him out of his jacket. After a moment of thought he also undid the tie, folding all three items as neatly as possible and laying them on top of his dresser. By the time he’d turned around, Stanley had managed to open the top button of his shirt, but seemed perfectly satisfied to most likely sleep in it otherwise.

“I don’t usually drink this much,” Stanley said as Barclay came to sit down beside him, “I don’t know why I didn’t taste-“

Barclay held up a hand.

“It’s fine, Stanley. I tried the stuff, and it didn’t taste like anything.” Barclay was going to leave it at that, but then he realized he was too curious, “though, I’m wondering how the hell you didn’t smell it.”

“Oh! I got a concussion on one of my first cases and lost my sense of smell. Well, not totally. But mostly.” Stanley gestured nonchalantly. “It happens.”

Barclay tried his best not to look too amused, because Stanley honestly hadn’t done anything all that amusing since coming into the room. But now that they were safely away from most things that could seriously injure Stanley or worse embarrass him in the morning, Barclay found himself with the brainpower to learn exactly what kind of drunk Stanley was. He’d abandoned his mask of neutrality entirely, forgoing the pleasant half smile in favor of his face doing whatever it wanted. Yet, Stanley couldn’t bring himself to lose control all the way, over enunciating every word instead of letting them slur together. The look of concentration on his face as he carefully forced the words into place almost made this entire situation worth it.

“It really _didn’t_ taste like anything,” Stanley said, interrupting Barclay’s musings.

“Ned claims Aubrey’s responsible for that.”

“I _knew_ she was magic,” Stanley murmured. Barclay almost had a heart attack. Then, Stanley started laughing, and after a moment Barclay found himself chuckling along.

“So, any other theories about who might have magical powers?”

Stanley nodded.

“I think Ned Chicane is Bigfoot,” he said seriously, finally getting the hang of eye contact just in time to meet Barclay’s gaze with uncomfortable intensity.

“And why do you think that?”

“Well, I have a checklist.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. First item: acts suspicious. Check. Second: hairy. Look at his beard. Goes into the woods a lot? Definitely. He thinks I won’t catch onto him just because he’s the one that made the tape, but I did. I’m onto him Barclay.”

Barclay was very tempted to go along with Stanley’s reasoning, because the sheer irony of Stanley going after Ned would almost be able to make up for Ned setting Stanley on his trail in the first place. Even if that hadn’t turned out to be such a bad experience _so far,_ he was still a bit unhappy about the sequence of events leading up to it. Unfortunately, however, Ned was still Barclay’s friend despite all of Barclay’s efforts to prevent it.

“But Ned _can’t_ be Bigfoot, Stanley.”

“And why not?”

Barclay paused, trying to formulate a good excuse. Then, he noticed the barely concealed look of amusement on Stanley’s face. Well, at least he didn’t

“He has small feet, for one thing,” he said, smiling as well. Stanley laughed. It was an actual, full, honest to god laugh. Barclay didn’t think he’d ever heard it before. It was a very nice laugh.

“That’s his cover, Barclay!” Stanley exclaimed. “Here, I’ll get my evidence notebook.” Stanley stood too quickly for Barclay to stop him, wobbling a bit and then making a surprisingly steady beeline for the dresser.

Stanley returned to the bed, opening his notebook and flipping through the pages. Barclay thought he saw one with a header that ended with “Cryptids in Disguise,” but it was gone too quickly for him to read the rest of it. A moment later, Barclay found the answer to Stanley’s seemingly inconsistent opinion of Ned Chicane. The page Stanley settled on sported a halfway-decent drawing of a man with a beard. The picture was circled. Several arrows pointed to the beard. Underneath it, in dark block letters was the word CONFIRMED, which was underlined at least five times.

“Is this what you’re always doing in that notebook of yours?”

“Only when I’m stuck.” Stanley frowned. “I’d hate for anyone to see me not working and think I’m a bad special agent.”

That reminded Barclay so much of Thacker in the later days, always typing at his half-busted laptop to make himself feel less useless. A few times Barclay had happened to glance at the screen while walking by and caught sight of things like “fucking abomination, come out and fight us for real you coward” or “if we don’t get a lead in the next three days I’m going to scream.” It was the first time in years he’d managed to think of something almost happy relating to Thacker. For so long it had been too hard to push past the knowledge he was missing, and then it was downright impossible to think of anything other than…well, Barclay pushed that thought away. He didn’t want to be sitting in bed with Stanley while thinking about Thacker.

“To be fair, I’m pretty sure you’re the only special agent they know,” he said, elbowing Stanley. Hopefully the only one they ever would. Stanley smiled, and it was only slightly strained.

A long moment later, Stanley set his notebook on the bedside table.

“Barclay.”

“Yes?”

“Barclay.”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to lie down. Come with me.”

Barclay obliged as Stanley scooted over to the other side of bed and yanked Barclay down. Then he draped himself over Barclay and buried his face in Barclay’s neck.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be a cuddly drunk,” Barclay mused, trying to hold back a laugh as Stanley’s breath tickled his neck.

“I’d never do this sober,” he said softly. “I’ll probably be embarrassed tomorrow. Tell sober me I shouldn’t be embarrassed tomorrow.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Stanley hummed in agreement, and they lay there in silence for a long time.

“Hey, Barclay,” Stanley said, so softly Barclay almost didn’t hear.

“Yeah?”

“I know your secret.”

Barclay froze. Had he found out? Barclay went over everything he’d said to Stanley over the past two months, and couldn’t find any moment that might have doomed him.

“What do you mean?” He asked, voice shaky.

“You like me,” Stanley whispered, and Barclay could feel Stanley’s mouth curl into a smile against his neck. He let out a laugh of relief, one he hoped Stanley would miss the underlying tone of.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. I’m a professional investigator you know, and I’ve figured you out.”

“I have a secret too.”

“Yeah?”

“I like you.”

Barclay grinned. He knew, of course, or had hoped he knew. It was still nice to hear.

“Well, I’m glad we got that straight,” he said.

“I’m tired, Barclay,” Stanley said. “This is my least favorite part of being drunk.”

“Then go to sleep,” Barclay replied.

“But it’s 10pm. I can’t go to sleep now.”

“If you’re tired, you should go to sleep.”

“I wanted to kiss you.” It wasn’t whining, not quite, but Stanley did sound faintly miserable. Barclay raised an eyebrow.

“Well, that’s something I can fix.” Stanley retreated so he could look Barclay in the eye, eyebrow raised in question. “It’s 9:59, Stanley. That means that two time zones from now it’s a minute to New Year’s.”

“Oh.”

Stanley pulled out his phone, setting it down between them with the clock app open.

“9:59 and twenty seconds, then,” he said, smiling.

Barclay smiled back, and they stared into one another’s eyes for the next ten seconds. God, Barclay was so doomed.

“I don’t wanna wait another ten seconds,” Stanley said. “So, Happy New Year’s.”

Stanley leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Barclay’s lips.

“Happy New Year’s.”

“I’m going to bed.”

“That’s probably a good thing,” Barclay said.

“You can go back to the party, if you want.”

“After you fall asleep.”

Stanley looked like he wanted to argue for a moment, then gave up and wrapped an arm around Barclay’s waist. Barclay carefully pulled the phone out from between them and reached to put it on the bedside table. He tried to hit the light, too, but his fingers fell short. So instead he let his arm fall over Stanley’s shoulders. They lay there, faces close enough Barclay could almost kiss Stanley again, and despite the fact that Stanley’s breath smelled like alcohol Barclay couldn’t bring himself to mind.

After a few minutes Stanley was asleep, and Barclay didn’t bother trying to extract himself from Stanley’s arms. Instead, he watched Stanley’s face as he slept and considered what would happen when this case was over. How long would it take Stanley’s superiors to send him away from Kepler if he kept getting no results? Stanley had mentioned that part of the reason he’d been miserable that brief period of time before they started dating was that Agent Richmond had once again expressed her disapproval of his progress during their weekly meeting. Stanley hoped and didn’t hope it would end like that, with Stanley just leaving and never coming back. It would feel so unresolved, but it was better than the alternative. Better than what might happen if Stern figured out his real secret.

Barclay sighed and put it out of his mind. Sleep didn’t come for a few hours, not until the clock reached midnight and Barclay pressed a kiss to Stanley’s forehead. With that done, he was able to finally able to close his eyes and sleep.

 

[1] Which had only served to infuriate him again when he realized, because if Agent Richmond knew he was leaving classified documents in his trunk then he would _deserve_ the dressing down she’d give him. He hated the idea of proving her right.

[2] He also realized that he should most definitely go back to his room, but his feet still wouldn’t move.

[3] Stern couldn’t tell if it was with relief or despair. He should really go back to his room. It was taking all of his concentration not to go to Barclay and set a hand on his shoulder, however, so he stayed still.

[4] Stern wondered if she would see him. Part of him hoped she would see him, just to try and break the tension cording the muscles in her neck.

[5] Stern was unsure whether it was one taken before, or after. He should really go back to his room, but moving felt like it might break this moment.

[6] Always with a sense of vague discomfort. He usually knew whoever was being toasted, but never well. Never well enough to feel like they’d want him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to get this fic out on New Years Eve, but then finished it at about the time I was scheduled to start partying. So you all get it now.


	7. Taking Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern has a bad morning. Barclay is nosy. Most of the chapter occurs while Stern is having a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was GOING to finish and post this chapter six days ago. Then I had a bit of a kerfuffle trying to get a refill of my medication and it completely sapped my will to do anything for several days. I overcame it just in time to have a bunch of stuff going on all day, eating up all my time to write.  
> But here I am! Finally! Even if I didn't get the chance to write all of this in one go like I usually do (so if you spot any inconsistencies that's why...or that might be because I mostly worked on this chapter between 1 and 3am).

Stern’s 2019 began at seven in the morning, when he woke up with his first hangover in ten years. The headache was bad enough that it took him a moment to register how dry his throat was, and his throat was dry enough it took him a moment to register that he wasn’t in his own bed. He shot up, and almost immediately[1] his eyes fell on the dresser across the room. A jacket that looked suspiciously like his sat there in a half-folded pile, like someone had dug through it, and a hot knife of panic had him throwing off the covers and jumping to his feet.

Said hot knife of panic was quickly followed by a hot knife of pain, however, and so a moment later he was seated back on the bed with the palms of his hands pressed against his eyes. Eventually things settled into enough of an equilibrium that his brain exploding and killing him instantly didn’t feel preferable to his continued existence, and he was able to look around the room more carefully. Thankfully, the next thing he found was exactly what he’d been looking for. He picked up the notebook resting on the bedside table and, after turning on the lamp just over it,[2] flipped through the pages in search of…he didn’t know. Just because it was left behind, didn’t mean no one had looked through it.[3]

Stern shut the book. That question was solved, or as solved as it could be at the moment, which meant it was time to figure out where he was.[4] He was still at the lodge, that much was clear from the dark wood furniture and the green curtains.[5] The size of the red flannel draped across the desk chair narrowed it down a bit, and on top of that looked familiar. As did the two pairs of boots lined up next to the door. Then he saw a framed photo sitting on the nightstand and things started coming back.

Stern fell back, groaning. Well, he could never be seen in the lodge again. Not after complimenting Ned Chicane.[6] The sentiment hadn’t been false[7] but it had been one he’d intended to take to the grave.

As completely embarrassing as the night had been, however, it explained the fact that his notebook wasn’t in his jacket pocket. Stern paused and rephrased that thought in his mind. It _sort of_ explained the fact that his notebook wasn’t in his jacket pocket. He remembered stumbling off to retrieve it, but his memory remained stubbornly fuzzy after that point.

Stern supposed he could at least be thankful the evening didn’t end in a _total_ blackout. He could still vaguely remember the way Barclay almost laughed when Stern breathed against his neck, the feeling of Barclay’s arm around him. Of course, the way he’d ended up in that situation should have _also_ been embarrassing, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Though it _did_ bring up an emotion that he most definitely did not want to be dealing with while lying on Barclay’s bed.[8] He distracted himself by looking back at the photo.

There were three people in the picture, standing in a line with their arms around each other. Barclay was on the right, wearing the same flannel that Stern had noticed just a moment ago in addition to the relaxed grin which was quickly becoming one of Stern’s favorite expressions. On the other side was Mama, who seemed similarly at ease.[9] A man stood between them with his arms around both their waists. He was also wearing a grin, though there was something nervous in the tilt of his lips and the way the light glinted off his glasses. It was an older photo, with wear around the edges and folds throughout it to indicate that at some point it may have lived in a pocket or wallet rather than a frame. Old enough that anything could have happened to the unfamiliar man in the center.[10]

Putting aside the photo of the stranger, and the desire to sleep for another six or seven hours, Stern forced himself back to his feet and toward the dresser. He shrugged his jacket on, squinting past his headache as he did his best to navigate his tie and shoes. After five tries, he managed to get the tie on correctly, and that was about the point he decided uneven laces would have to do for the moment. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

It was brighter in the kitchen than in his room, but the train of awful sensory experiences that had led Stern to the doorway had desensitized him enough that he was able to resist slamming the door shut. Fortunately, no one was around to see him emerge. Well, nobody except Barclay, who was standing directly in front of him with his hand raised to knock on the door. Stern did not flinch, thankfully. He wasn’t sure his damaged pride could have withstood that.

“I wasn’t expecting you up this early,” Barclay said. Before Stern could blink, Barclay had pressed a glass of cold water into one of his hands and pain medication into the other. “You’ve got good timing, I was just going to leave these on the table.”

“Headache woke me up,” Stern mumbled, then took a drink. The cold water helped with the pain, but not enough to stop him from adding on, “if I die, tell Ned and Aubrey I’m going to haunt them.”

“Better not,” Barclay said, clearly holding back a smile. “Ned might try to make you an exhibit in The Cryptonomica.”

“Damn. I suppose I’m going to have to live forever just to spite him.”

Barclay gave up trying not to look amused.

“Good, I don’t want to have to tell the sheriff why there’s a dead FBI agent in my kitchen.” He leaned toward Stern, then wrinkled his nose. “This _would_ be where I’d kiss you, but uh…your breath is…”

“That bad?”[11] He asked, Barclay nodded sympathetically.

“That bad.”

Stern began calculating exactly how painful the trip up the stairs to brush his teeth would be, but thankfully Barclay seemed to notice his suffering.

“I’ve got an extra toothbrush in my bathroom,” he said, patting Stern on the shoulder, “deal with that and I’ll bring you eggs.”[12]

“ _Thank you_ ,” he said, and retreated back into the dim sanctum of Barclay’s room. Then, he remembered an earlier worry and opened the door again. “Hey, Barclay?”

“Yeah?”

“Last night, when I got my notebook out…what pages did I show you?”

“Just the one where you decided Ned was Bigfoot. Why?”

Stern let out a breath of relief.

“I know we go through this pretty much every time we discuss this whole,” he gestured vaguely, “thing. But, well. My case notes actually _do_ have some classified information in them. The kind of classified that I can’t manage to justify telling you, no matter how much I trust you.”[13] Despite the fact that about three quarters of their relationship involved Stern trusting Barclay with things,[14] it felt strange to say it out loud.

“Well, don’t worry, you were very professional,” Barclay replied, smiling and an inch or two closer than he’d been a moment before. He leaned in, and then wrinkled his nose again. “Jesus Christ I already forgot about your breath. Get out of here before I accidentally kiss you for real.”

* * *

 

Barclay sat beside Stanley on the bed, watching the growing furrow in Stanley’s brow as he wrote in his notebook. Well, tried to write. It was mostly just squinting at the page, scribbling at most a word or two, and then squinting some more. Barclay wondered how legible whatever Stanley managed to get down _was,_ seeing as they were sitting on Barclay’s bed with all the lights off.

“I’m fine,” Stanley said distantly, despite obviously being not fine. Barclay hadn’t intended to be so obvious with his trademarked concerned face, but apparently he was. Well, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to lean into it. He raised an eyebrow, and Stanley turned his squint in Barclay’s direction. “I am!”

“You’ve been frowning at one page of your notebook for twenty minutes. And you’ve still got a headache. Go back to sleep.”

Stanley waved a hand dismissively.

“I got nine hours, that’s more than enough.”

“You look like you got maybe two.”

 “I’m _fine._ ” Stanley sighed. “Besides, it’s not like I could get to sleep anyway.”

“I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure sitting in the dark and trying to write isn’t good for migraines.” Stanley’s expression remained flat, but his lips twitched just a bit in a way Barclay was pretty certain represented pouting. “Lying down with your eyes closed will probably help.”

 “Yes, well-“

Barclay checked the clock, figuring how long it would be before Mama came downstairs and started wondering where he was. If he was still gone and she found out it was because of Stanley, she’d be annoyed all day. But he had at least an hour and a half, which was probably more time than he could reasonably expect Stanley to hold still. He reached over, plucking the notebook out of Stanley’s hands and ignoring the offended noise Stanley made.

“If you lie down, I’ll stay here with you ‘till you wake up.”

Stanley looked mournfully at his notebook for a moment, then sighed.

“Okay, fine. But you have to keep your end of the deal.”

“It’ll be my pleasure,” Barclay replied, grinning. Stanley rolled his eyes and leaned forward to remove his shoes, then shifted under the covers and lay down.

“Stanley.”

“What?”

“Your tie.”

Stanley sighed and loosened it without even sitting up, setting it on the night stand. Barclay wondered how the hell he’d managed that, then wondered if Stanley would ever manage to go more than ten minutes without a tie _outside_ of emergencies or sleep. And pancakes. And being petty.

He distracted himself from that thought, because it was none of his business, by taking Stanley’s hand and rubbing his thumb in slow circles on the back of it. Stanley smiled for a moment, and then winced.

“Barclay?”

“Yeah?”

“If this headache kills me, tell my supervisor I hate her,” he groaned.

“Of course.”

Honestly, the chance to tell off Agent Richmond sounded like a good time, aside from the fact that it would apparently require Stanley dying in his sleep. Everything Barclay knew about her boiled down to “spends an hour every week lecturing Stanley about being bad at his job,” which didn’t exactly put her in his good books. Almost as bad was the fact that she was a monster-hunting FBI agent, and even if he’d managed to _almost_ ignore the fact that Stanley may dealt with a sylph or two over the course of his career, that was still a black mark on her record on account of he’d been given no indication she had redeeming qualities.

Of course, Barclay didn’t _know_ whether UP had every gotten their hands on a sylph before. Maybe he _wasn’t_ deluding himself with the vague hope that Stanley had only ever run into abominations and all the other things that stumbled out of the corrupted lands. That was way too convenient to be true, but he had to hold onto something. Barclay suppressed a sigh, on the offhand chance Stanley might hear him over his migraine, and wished not for the first time that he knew what Stanley had got up to before arriving in Kepler. That he knew whether stopping Stanley from trying to kill him would be preventing Stanley from stepping over the line between killing monsters and killing actual sentient beings, or trying to pull him _back_. Or, hell, that he knew _anything_ aside from what Stanley had told him.

There had been many moments in Barclay’s long life where he’d had the thought “I really, really shouldn’t be doing this.” That instinct was usually right. Nearly always right, if he was being honest, and he usually tried his best to listen to it.

And yet, as Stanley’s breaths evened out – despite his insistence that he wouldn’t be able to sleep – Barclay found himself staring at the notebook in his hands.

He really, _really_ shouldn’t be doing this. He should be tacking more reallys onto that statement, probably. He carefully let go of Stanley’s hand. _If he wakes up,_ Barclay thought, _it will ruin everything._

Barclay opened the notebook to the first page.

 

CASE NOTES ON INVESTIGATION BF1819-2.

AGENT LUCKY STERN.

KEPLER, WV.

SUBJECT: BIGFOOT.

 

There was no way Barclay would find the answer to his original question in Stanley’s case notes. Hell, he probably wouldn’t find the answer in any of the documents Stanley had brought to Kepler. He should just shut the book and set it on the night stand.

On the other hand, wouldn’t it be good to know if Stanley had really gotten nowhere on the investigation, or if he had found something but wasn’t willing to tell Barclay about it? Barclay was fairly certain his identity was safe, judging by how cuddly Stanley had been the previous night, but what if someone else in Kepler was in danger?

Barclay turned the page, wondering not for the first time how Stanley managed to fit such a large notebook into his jacket. Maybe he had it custom made, with bigger pockets on the inside just to keep his notes on him. Despite himself, Barclay smiled at that idea as he went back to reading.

The second page was an index stretching halfway down it in small, neat letters. Barclay had caught a glimpse of Stanley’s handwriting when Stanley had flipped through his notes the previous night, but the only actual writing he’d gotten a chance to look at had been the single word underneath the drawing of Ned. Barclay hadn’t put much thought into what Stern’s handwriting might look like, but in the end it was just about what he’d have expected.

Barclay followed the index to the page he’d seen the previous night, ignoring the ones he passed by. He’d get to them later, but he had to know what was written on Stanley’s suspect page. It was four pages long, consisting of a three column spreadsheet rendered in carefully straight lines. The first column had him holding his breath for a moment as he scanned through the list and realized it was a list of names, which included every resident of Amnesty Lodge.

The other two columns weren’t labeled, but it didn’t take Barclay long to figure out what they meant.

“Mama,” the first row read, followed by “Suspicious behavior,” and then “I can’t imagine her leaving Amnesty Lodge long enough to go on a murder spree in _Washington state._ ”

He couldn’t tell whether he should feel better or worse, reading that. He’d been prepared for relief when he realized Stanley had dismissed Mama as a suspect. Then he processed the second half of the sentence. Stanley had said he was investigating disappearances and Barclay knew, deep down, that disappearances was code for deaths, but he hadn’t wanted to think about it.

“Ned Chicane,” read another. “Very clearly a criminal. I don’t believe the kind of criminal I’m looking for here, though.”

Barclay bit the inside of his cheek and wondered how Stanley had figured out sylphs could look human. Last night had been the first time Barclay had heard Stanley mention anything about it, and by the next morning Barclay had come to the conclusion Stanley’s comment about Ned really _was_ a joke about how hairy and suspicious he was.

“Aubrey Little. Tried to convince me I wasn’t an FBI agent when I met her. She felt bad about accidentally killing a spider last week, I’m fairly sure she hasn’t killed any human beings.”

Barclay was half tempted to read the whole list, but the other half of him knew the only one he really needed to read was the next one down.

“Barclay. I can feel him staring at me, sometimes, when he thinks I’m not looking. He looks afraid.” Barclay bit the inside of his cheek, feeling a moment of embarrassment at being caught even a week later. He read the next column “He’s not a murderer. He’s…I can’t fit all the reasons I know this on one page. Besides, I think I’d like to keep some of them to myself.”

Barclay smiled, his fingers brushing against that line of writing. He let one hand fall to brush against Stanley’s arm, and Stanley made a soft, contented noise. Barclay stiffened and prepared to slam the notebook shut, but Stanley just shifted slightly and went still again. Once again, Barclay remembered he shouldn’t be doing this.

Instead, he turned to a random page, one near the beginning. It was headed with the words “Confirmed Sightings: Chronological.” The first few lines were dated just after Barclay had arrived on Earth, and were all marked simply with “sighting, no contact.” Then a bit of space, followed by the words “if any of us don’t know what happened here, they obviously haven’t paid attention at our yearly briefings,” written next to the date “August 3rd, 2002.” The words had been crossed out and replaced by the letters “F.C.” Barclay wondered what the acronym meant for a moment, but the line below it quickly distracted him.

Alta, WV. November, 2002: one body recovered, two disappearances. See file BFWV1102.

Ninevah, IN. February, 2003: no bodies recovered, two disappearances. See file BFIN0203

Greece, NY. June, 2004: two bodies recovered. See file BFNY0604

Barclay didn’t breathe as he read to the end of the timeline. Fifteen towns, total. Fifteen towns whose names he recognized, because he had been there on the dates indicated. And in those fifteen towns, thirty dead and missing people who were left anonymous in the notebook but whose names he knew by heart. Thirty names he knew by heart, because he’d been the one to destroy the abominations that killed them.

“Well, shit,” he whispered, looking down at Stanley. “I guess I can see why you’re gunning for me, then.”

Stanley’s brow furrowed in his sleep. Barclay turned the page. It was unlabeled, and written in a different pen than any of the other pages.

_“This statement is not one which I intend to include in my final report. I feel the need to include these details in my case notes, however, in the event I am incapacitated, and another agent is assigned to this investigation.”_

Barclay paused, shivering slightly as he pictured what Stanley had no doubt imagined.

 _It won’t come to that,_ he promised himself, ignoring the fact that he might have no say in the matter. He kept reading.

_“When my successor is assigned, I strongly suggest they continue searching Kepler. If I never make any progress on this case it is due to my own shortcomings, not because the trail is a dead end. There is no doubt in my mind that Bigfoot has been to this town, and even if it has moved on there may be some lead that I’ve missed.”_

_“I would also like to state that the official dossier on Bigfoot does not contain one piece of information I consider vital. I have requested it be included, but my superiors are uncertain about its veracity. Which is, frankly, insulting.”_

_“While it is possible to track Bigfoot to its most recent hunting ground based only on sightings and analysis of local disappearances, it can be difficult to narrow down its location within the area. This is especially true because most agents follow their instincts and search only in secluded, wooded areas.”_

_It is not an unreasonable thing to believe, given how out of place its natural form would be in a town or city, but it is not in fact limited to its natural form. The information which I mentioned prior is that Bigfoot is, against all laws of reason, capable of disguising itself as a human being. As strange as this might seem, I am sure this is true. I am sure for the same reason I know_ _the Kepler footage is legitimate.”_

_“I am sure, because I saw it happen.”_

 

[1] After he sat very still for a moment waiting for his stomach to calm down.

[2] And then wishing that he hadn’t.

[3] Normally, he’d manage some self-pitying thought about how these particular case notes didn’t exactly have a lot of classified evidence in them. He wasn’t able to think well enough for hyperbole, however, so all he could focus on was the truth. Which was that if someone got their hands on those notes he would a) be in trouble and b) deserve it.

[4] Which unfortunately included looking at the light streaming in from the crack in a set of curtains to his right, followed by more wanting to die. Hopefully it would be more than ten years before this happened to him again.

[5] They were the same as the ones from his room, though this bed had a quilt patterned with pine trees that looked distinctly hand made. A long term resident, then. Well, thinking back on it that was a pretty meaningless distinction. Almost everyone in the lodge was a long term resident. Everyone, actually. Aside from him.

[6] Also the fact that he’d stumbled into Barclay’s room and then never left, but that was less embarrassing then it really should have been. _Much_ less embarrassing than Ned Chicane.

[7] Which honestly made it worse.

[8] Not without Barclay there, at least.

[9]Stern wondered whether this was because she didn’t smile often anymore, or because she tried to avoid it in his presence. Maybe both.

[10] Who both Mama and Barclay were leaning into in a way Stern thought he recognized, and on a day when he wasn’t half overwhelmed by the urge to curl back up on the bed and die he probably would have overanalyzed that.

[11] Stern was unsurprised, given how bad his mouth _tasted._

[12] If Stern were more prone toward flippant declarations of admiration, this would be where he’d say “God, I love you.” Unfortunately he was not, so instead he just _thought_ it, and then felt embarrassed.

[13] Both because there were _actually_ classified pieces of information in there, and because most everything _else_ he’d written down was very embarrassing. So really, would have fit the mood of the past twelve hours if he’d accidentally shown them to Barclay.

[14] A fact which Stern suddenly felt just a bit guilty about, on account of he was pretty sure that sort of thing should probably go both ways.


	8. Bad Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern has a bad dream. Barclay has a bad feeling. Aubrey and Duck are in this one also.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to publish this at a reasonable hour of the day, but then I got distracted and didn't end up editing it until now. So uh. You all get this now instead.

Stern thrashed awake, skin prickling with the feeling of jaws snapping shut inches from his neck. He clapped a hand over his mouth and held his breath until the anticipation of teeth sinking into him faded into normal, harmless goosebumps. That was the plan, at least. The memory of his dream lingered until his chest ached, and eventually he was forced to let it out between his clenched teeth.

It was the hissing sound of breath escaping him which finally jostled Stern’s brain out of the nightmare. That, and the realization he was alone in Barclay’s room. Stern sat up, touching the spot where Barclay had been sitting when he fell asleep.[1] He took another deep breath, in the hopes it would clear his mind. It didn’t.

Stern had always found a certain amount of comfort in how simple his nightmares were. They were horrifying certainly, but also one-dimensional and usually familiar.[2] He would fall asleep, find himself confronted by a straightforward, terrifying image, and then it would be over. Waking up from them always involved a little panic, but he’d learned how to fold them up and put them away into the compartments of his mind like clothes in a dresser.[3] Excepting, of course, the dream he’d had just a week ago, the one about the shapeless nightmare with glowing eyes and teeth.

That same shapeless nightmare which had nearly caught him just moments ago.

On Christmas Eve, the creature had stood in too-long shadows, needle-teeth glinting despite there being no visible light source. The sharpness of them had driven Stern to waking and followed him downstairs, but it hadn’t attacked.[4] This time it had been distinctly more aggressive. And worse, it hadn’t had the courtesy to show itself immediately.

It began as one of Stern’s typical nightmares. He’d been seated atop a small rock ledge in the middle of the woods, fingers white with cold as they curled around the grip of his gun. For a time there had only been the ambience of a forest in early morning, the birds chirping above him and the creek rushing off in the distance both muted by the snow which covered the ground and trees. Then there were footsteps, too loud and unmuffled to belong in the quiet woods, though Stern could see nothing that might cause the noise. He blinked, and when his eyes opened a monster was standing in the snow below his perch.[5]

He took a breath.

He raised his gun.

He pulled the trigger.

When Stern blinked again the scene changed. A man lay below him, head too marred by the bullet for Stern to make out his face.[6] Stern knew in the back of his mind he should be feeling horror, or guilt, or _something._ Instead, he felt no different than before he took the shot. He stood, turned on his heel, and walked away.

Usually Stern woke from this brand of nightmare a few steps later, when his mind processed exactly how wrong that emotional reaction was. This time, he’d made his way through the woods in the grips of apathy until he felt a shadow lurking behind him. He spun, preparing to raise his gun, only to find the weapon had disappeared from his hand. The thing with teeth and eyes lunged toward him, darkness spreading out in its wake until the snowy woods were overtaken by shadows.

It was then Stern realized this must be a dream. He felt no comfort in that knowledge as he fled with the thing at his heels. He stumbled into trees, into rocks, his palms scraping on branches as he tried to feel his way through the dark forest with eyes and teeth following him.[7] He ran until all he could feel was his pulse in his ears and the raw ache in his lungs from breathing too fast. Then he stumbled, and teeth snapped at his neck, and he woke.

Stern eyed the alarm clock. Only ten minutes had passed since he’d closed his eyes. His head still hurt, but abstractly, pain pushed to the side by unease. He’d had two of his nightmares at once. That had never happened, not since he was a child.

Stern took a deep breath. He didn’t have time to be sitting in bed and worrying about these things.[8] He untangled himself from the covers and slid out of bed, kneeling down to tie his shoes. It was slightly easier than the last time he’d put them on.[9]

Stern looked for the tie on his nightstand and found that his notebook had been set down beside it. He reached out to grab the book, then stopped himself. He could leave it out for a moment. He didn’t have to worry about Barclay reading it, after all.

The door to the bathroom opened, startling Stern out of that comfortable thought. Stern felt something in him relax as Barclay came back into the room. So he hadn’t been left alone after all.

“Oh, you’re up.” Barclay looked surprised, and Stern thought he heard something vaguely unsettled in Barclay’s voice. He was probably reading his own feelings into it. “Sorry for, uh, being gone. I thought you’d be asleep for longer. Did something happen?”

Stern considered telling Barclay about at least one part of his dreams. Then he took a closer look at Barclay’s face and yes, there was worry there. No point in making things worse.

“I usually wake up earlier than this, my body probably decided there was no point in staying down,” he replied instead, trying to figure out the source of Barclay’s discomfort.[10]

“Well, do you think you’re ready to face the outside world again?” Barclay smiled, and Stern took the opportunity to hold off introspection for a moment.

“I guess we’d better,” he replied, a bit regretfully. His head protested against going out into the bright lobby, but the longer he waited the more people would be awake. Knowing his luck, Mama would be right outside the door.[11]

Stern sighed, straightening his back and forcing any trace of his headache out of his expression. Barclay made his way over and curled his arm around Stern’s waist. He rested his other hand on Stern’s face.

“Before we go, though. I did say I’d kiss you once you brushed your teeth,” Barclay said. Stern smiled and allowed Barclay to pull him in.[12] Then he leaned back and made his way to the door.

As soon as he poked his head out of the room, he was greeted by Aubrey wolf whistling at him from her seat atop the kitchen counter.

* * *

After decades of keeping the whole Bigfoot thing a secret, Barclay had gotten decent enough at hiding things. Unfortunately, he’d never mastered the art of not feeling bad about doing it, which put a pretty big dent in how effective he was at lying to people he liked. This left Barclay in an awkward position when, for the entire first week of 2019, he found himself lying to both his boyfriend and the Pine Guard.

Stanley didn’t seem to notice, and every once in a while Barclay’d wondered whether he was actually clueless or if Stanley were just an even better liar than he seemed. Then he’d remember that the entire basis for their relationship was Stanley being incapable of hiding his feelings, which left Barclay both more secure and guiltier about his deception. Once that happened, Barclay tried telling himself that he hadn’t been reading the notebook to spy on his _boyfriend,_ he’d been reading the notebook to spy on the FBI agent that was – in the best case scenario – here to arrest him. It never worked, and yet he found himself holding it up as justification every single time.

During one such cycle of self-recrimination and self-justification, Stanley dragged him out on a date.

“It’s our two week anniversary,” Stanley had said, and Barclay couldn’t tell whether he was being cheeky or totally serious as he added, “and just like the day I asked you out for the first time, I really _really_ need to drink some coffee and complain about my boss.”

 Barclay was honestly surprised Stanley hadn’t done the same on their one week anniversary. Then again, their one week anniversary was the day after they’d decided to properly date, and if Stanley’s emotions had been in a similar place to Barclay’s there was a good chance even a 5am meeting with Agent Richmond wasn’t enough to dampen his spirits.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case for either of them this week, which meant that Stanley was trying to complain about UP without revealing any solidly classified information, prefacing the sort-of-classified information with his usual disclaimer of “oh god, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I’m going to anyway because I’m already in too deep.”

“Then she accused me of being biased about this investigation!” Stanley’s hands twitched as if to make some kind of agitated hand motion, but he seemed to remember he was in public because he aborted the gesture and took an angry sip of coffee instead. Barclay was struck by the thought that Stanley looked tired. Very tired. The sort of tired that took days to build up, and which Barclay should probably have noticed sooner.

“Biased?” Barclay asked, forcing himself away from the urge to feel bad about his ignorance. If he could get Stanley to tell him the story about Bigfoot, then at the very least his _own_ emotional troubles would resolve themselves enough he could focus on whatever was bothering Stanley. Well, no. The part of “this whole thing” that involved him wondering when exactly Stanley had seen him transform and what he’d done to make such an impression would be resolved. The part where he felt bad about snooping wouldn’t, but there was pretty much nothing to be done about that. Barclay fully intended to keep that to himself for the rest of his hopefully very long life.

“Uh,” Stanley stumbled over his righteous indignation so hard Barclay knew he’d been about to spill something important. Stanley took another sip of coffee, nervously this time, and then slid on a smile so professionally fake that Barclay could almost mistake him for a real life soulless FBI man. “I have a bit of a reputation in UP for being. Overzealous in my classification of the paranormal.”

Barclay didn’t let his disappointment at the deflection show, because then he’d be revealing he knew it was a deflection, which would mean having to deflect about the reason he knew it was a deflection. God, he hated lying to people he cared about.

“Wait, you have a reputation in the…FBI paranormal division…for thinking too many things are paranormal?” He asked instead, because that was just interesting enough he could use it to distract himself from his own thoughts. Stanley sighed.

“Contrary to how it might seem, UP isn’t…isn’t the X-Files. We don’t want to _believe_ that something is out there, we want to _know_.” Barclay nodded, resisting the urge to tell Stanley that sounded exactly like the X-files. “Most of my colleagues take that to mean nothing is paranormal until absolutely proven otherwise. I’d prefer to say something _might_ be paranormal, even though that means I’m usually wrong. They say it’s about being logical, but sometimes I think…” Stanley shook his head.

“Maybe they just like being right about things?” Barclay guessed. Stanley nodded.

“Yeah. I mean, not all of them, some of them disagree with my methods in a purely professional manner. But some of them just _really_ like being right.” Stanley paused, running a hand through his hair as he gathered his composure back up. “I don’t have to tell you to keep this to yourself, do I?”

 “I promise not to tell your coworkers they’re idiots, Stanley.”

Stanley’s smile brightened.

“Actually, if you want to call them idiots I’ll give you their numbers.” He shook his head, face serious again. “It’s not even classified, they’d just be annoying about it if they knew I was talking shit.” He ran a hand down his face. “I know I shouldn’t be complaining so much…I love my job, I really do. I’m not even just saying that to try and convince myself. But the people are…I’m awful at people, Barclay, especially when all of those people are kind of assholes.”

“I don’t know, you seem to handle everyone at the lodge well enough, and they’re almost all assholes,” Barclay reassured him.

Stern raised an eyebrow.

“Barclay, we both know they only like me because _you_ like me. Or have you forgotten how it was before we got together?”

“I’m pretty sure they like you ‘cuz they like you. Now, at least.” Aubrey and Duck seemed to, at least. Most likely because Stanley had expressed a proper amount of appreciation for the magic tricks Aubrey had been showing him since New Year’s. “And hey, even if they’re just pretending to like you because I like you, that just means I like you enough that people realize being rude to you’d make it hard to keep on my good side.”

Stanley let out a soft laugh.

“Oh good, you _do_ like me. I was worried you’d just been dating me to get out of parking tickets.” Barclay had to analyze the tone of that statement for a second, but thankfully came to the conclusion Stanley had been joking. Mostly joking, at least.

“ _Can_ you get me out of parking tickets?” Barclay asked.

“Honestly, I have no idea. I don’t usually date, so I’m not sure what sort of abuses of power I’m allowed when it comes to partners.” Stanley’s smile turned mischievous. “Want to park in a tow away zone and find out?” Barclay snorted, almost choking on his coffee.

“You know, I’d be tempted to say yes, but I’m pretty sure Sheriff Zeke cares too much about the law for little things like the federal government to stop him from doing his job.”

 

Over the next few days, Barclay was relieved to see that his hunch about Duck and Aubrey liking Stanley turned out to be true. Duck and Stanley had developed a sort of comradery based off the fact that they were both government employees with a healthy annoyance for the government. Which, Barclay soon discovered, was a more powerful bonding force than pretty much anything else in the world. Barclay had walked by the two of them more than once and overheard snatches of a conversation about how they’d really like the government to consider starting back up again. Stanley couldn’t have known how much not being able to work was hurting Duck – after the whole “losing his powers” thing, going to work was one of the only distractions he might’ve had – but having Stanley to complain about it with clearly helped.

Since Duck had lost his powers, Aubrey had taken to showing him her new magic tricks in an attempt to cheer him up, as well. This meant that the three of them, and Barclay as well, ended up in one another’s company pretty often. Barclay had assumed that, even if Aubrey got past her initial distrust of “the man,” she’d never really get past a friendly kind of tolerance toward Stanley. Then, Stanley had let slip the fact that one of his colleagues at UP used to be a professional illusionist, and she’d started dragging him into her displays even when Duck wasn’t around. Allegedly she wanted a second opinion on whether his tricks were show ready, but Barclay had a suspicion she was more interested in him telling her she was better at magic than an FBI agent.

The attention seemed to drag Stanley out of his reluctance toward casual conversation, because after a while he gave up sitting in his isolated corner and moved to sit closer to the bar where it was easy for Barclay to keep an eye on him. And Barclay did. Sometimes they talked, but for the most part it was a companionable silence as they both worked, broken by Barclay squeezing Stanley’s hand whenever he’d been staring at a piece of evidence for too long or Stanley showing off some cartoonish sketch in his notebook when Barclay was feeling stressed. It was nice, just being there with someone. Barclay had forgotten how nice it was.

That nearness also chased them into the night, ever since Aubrey and Ned had started teasing Barclay about Stern sleeping in his room.

“I’m pretty sure this is the worst they have to offer,” Stanley said, casually sliding a stack of night clothes into a half empty drawer of Barclay’s dresser, “there’s no reason not to stay over every once in a while, seeing as I’ve already ruined my reputation completely.”

“I’m so sorry that our relationship is ruining your reputation,” Barclay replied. Stanley froze for a moment.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” he insisted, fiddling with his tie nervously. “God, it sounds like that’s what I meant, doesn’t it? I’m sorry.”

“Well, I guess I can forgive you if you stay over tonight,” Barclay said, and Stanley relaxed.

 _Every once in a while_ turned out to be almost every night, which was for the most part great. As it turned out, Stanley’s drunkenness wasn’t the only reason he’d been so cuddly one New Year’s, which meant most nights ended with Stern sprawled over Barclay’s chest. It would probably be less endearing when the weather got hotter, but for now Barclay appreciated the solid reminder that Stanley was _there._

Barclay had worried that Stanley’s constant nearness would end with Barclay obsessing over the whole “Stanley has seen Bigfoot before and it was probably not under favorable circumstances,” but fortunately that had kind of slipped his mind. At first, it had been because he’d been enjoying himself. Then, it was because he noticed something was wrong.

 “Hey, does Stanley look uh, alright to you?” Barclay asked Duck, on one of the rare occasions that Stanley wasn’t sitting near either of them. It was a few days after Barclay first asked himself that question, and maybe Barclay should have felt bad about waiting so long to say something, but he’d wanted to be sure he wasn’t just being overprotective. He still wasn’t sure, but he’d convinced himself enough to ask for a second opinion.

Duck tried his best to covertly glance in Stanley’s direction, which was to say he very obviously stared at Stanley for a good ten seconds. Stanley didn’t notice, which Barclay was pretty sure counted as an answer in and of itself. Duck chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment.

“Well, I hadn’t really noticed, bein’ as _I’m_ not exactly alright at the moment.” Duck gestured in a way Barclay could only describe as ‘bitter.’ “But yeah, he looks uh. Tired? Yeah, I think it’s tired.”

“Do you think it has something to do with whatever was making you nervous after New Year’s?” Aubrey asked, popping out of literally nowhere. Barclay wondered for a moment whether she’d learned teleportation from Janelle, then remembered that teleportation magic didn’t exist.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said. Both Aubrey and Duck gave him skeptical looks. “Okay, maybe I was a little nervous! But that’s all been settled.” Which was to say Stanley hadn’t noticed and Barclay had kind of decided never to tell anyone ever. “And anyway, there’s no way that’s involved.”

After all, Stanley had left the notebook unattended in Barclay’s presence plenty of times since New Year’s. Unless that was some sort of secret test to make sure Barclay didn’t look at it again, Stanley seemed to have decided he could trust Barclay not to look. Besides, nothing Barclay had read about seemed worth losing sleep over. He was pretty sure Stanley would feel a little _embarrassed_ about Barclay knowing he had an empty list of things he’d done to make everyone at the lodge dislike him, but that was hardly insomnia-inducing.

Barclay almost let himself fall into the black hole of wondering what could have been written in the pages that he hadn’t read. Then he pulled himself back, because now wasn’t the time to be coming up with doomsday scenarios.

“Okay, so either whatever happened on New Year’s is something dumb, like he found out you snored really loud, or it’s something really bad that makes you not want to tell us,” Aubrey said, interrupting Barclay’s thoughts.

“It’s nothing.”

“C’mon Barclay, now you’ve got her all riled up to solve a mystery. You’re not gonna know peace ‘till you tell her,” Duck interjected, almost managing to hide the fact that he most definitely wanted to know as much as Aubrey did. Barclay chanced a look in Stanley’s direction to make sure he wasn’t looking their way. Thankfully, whatever he had in front of him seemed to be eating up all his focus.

“I…may or may not have looked in Stanley’s notebook while he was sleeping,” he admitted.

“And you didn’t tell us?” Aubrey asked, as if all Barclay could have found was harmless gossip. Duck nodded.

“I’m wonderin’ that too. Seems like he’s probably got a handy thing or two written in there.”

Barclay considered his choices for a moment. He _could_ deflect and say that all he’d found was the list of suspects, which he didn’t think was important on account of that list boiled down to Stanley not suspecting any of them. But then that would open him up to questions about why he didn’t tell everybody just so they’d stop worrying, and then they’d tell Mama, and Mama would most definitely know he was hiding something.

“Yeah. Yeah. He did,” he said, and hoped he wouldn’t regret what he was about to say. “You see…uh, if I tell you, will you promise not to tell Mama?”

“Barclay, if it means I get to know gossip I will triple pinky swear,” Aubrey replied solemnly. She held out her pinky for emphasis, and when he didn’t take it she wiggled it a little. Barclay wondered whether he should be regretting his friendship with her or cherishing it as he curled his pinky around hers. “Okay, now let’s have Duck swear and hope that promising not to snitch is enough pressure to keep him from telling Mama if she asks what’s going on.”

Duck didn’t even bother acting offended, immediately holding out his hand. Once that was done, Barclay let the words tumble out of him as quickly as possible, before he could take back his decision to say them.

“Stanley’s seen Bigfoot before. I mean, he’s seen me. He’s seen me, as Bigfoot. And he’s seen me _turn into_ Bigfoot.”

Aubrey’s eyes widened, perceptible even through her drugstore sunglasses.

“So he _knows_ you’re Bigfoot?”

Barclay felt his brain lock up for a second as he tried to process that sentence. How had that thought not occurred to him before?

“No. I mean, I don’t know. He just mentioned that he’d seen Bigfoot turn into a person on one of the first pages. I, uh…” Barclay tried to come up with a way to say ‘seeing it spooked me enough that I immediately shut the notebook and ran away to hid in the bathroom, where I stayed until I heard Stanley wake up’ that didn’t sound embarrassing. He failed. “I didn’t get a chance to read the whole thing, but when I looked at his suspects page he said he didn’t suspect me.”

What if he’d missed another page, though? Maybe Stanley had just been trying to catch him off guard to gather more evidence or-

Barclay cut that thought off before he could waste time spiraling into some completely nonsense paranoia about his entire relationship being a lie.

“Anyway, I’m more worried about him knowing cryptids can turn into human beings in general than I am about him figuring me out.”

“And how Mama would react to knowing our favorite cryptid hunting FBI man might actually have all the puzzle pieces he’d need to figure us out?” Duck asked.

“I mean, also the moral ambiguity of reading your boyfriend’s private notebooks while he’s sleeping. And the fact that I can never ask him about any of this, because then he’ll know I read his private notebooks while he was sleeping. And worrying about whether he somehow caught onto me being, you know, Bigfoot…”

“Pretty sure he ain’t in a state to be catching on to anything.”

“Yeah, no offense to him, but I’m pretty sure he’s not, like, super perceptive about these things,” Aubrey added. Which was true, but Barclay gave her a disappointed look anyway.

Duck frowned. “I was referrin’ to the fact that he needs a nap or five, Aubrey.”

 “I think what he needs is for me to figure out why he’s not sleeping in the first place,” Barclay said, sighing.  

Over the next few days, Barclay paid careful attention to Stanley’s sleeping habits and learned two things. The first was that, yes, Stanley wasn’t getting enough sleep. The second was that no matter how late Barclay stayed up, Stanley made sure to fall asleep after him, and no matter how early Barclay woke, Stanley was already awake. Once he’d watched that pattern play out long enough, he found himself developing a hunch as to the cause. At that point, he realized, the only thing to do would be to test his hypothesis.

“Let’s go to bed early,” Barclay proposed as he finished wiping down the bar for the day.

“Any particular reason?” Stanley asked, pausing his obviously half-hearted scribbling and lifting his notebook so that Barclay could clean underneath it.

“If you die of exhaustion I’d have to find a new boyfriend, and I’m just getting used to having you so that’d be a real shame.”

“I’m not exhausted,” Stanley replied hastily. Barclay raised an eyebrow. “Alright, maybe I’m a little tired, but-“

“Listen, I’m not gonna ask you what’s up, ‘cuz you obviously don’t want to tell me.” Stanley winced, looking faintly guilty, which made Barclay feel faintly guilty also because that wasn’t the point of all this. “I just want to make sure you get some sleep.”

Stanley stared at Barclay for a long moment, then tucked his notebook into his jacket pocket.

“I suppose that’s reasonable.”

A few minutes later, Barclay was sitting on his bed watching the bathroom door while he waited for Stanley to finish changing. Usually, the fact that Stanley kept his clothes in Barclay’s room made him feel warm. Now, it just made him relieved that Stanley would be out of his line of sight for the shortest amount of time possible. It wasn’t that Barclay thought Stanley run off and go back to work or anything. It was just that, in addition to becoming a decent liar, Barclay’s time on Earth had given him a healthy sense of paranoia. Which was useful when fighting abominations or fleeing from law enforcement, but _very_ stressful when he was worried about someone.

Eventually, Stanley emerged, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. The pants were the sort of dark blue Barclay would have expected, but the shirt was a bright yellow. Normally, Barclay found Stanley’s unexpected preference for brightly colored pajamas charming, and the fact that Stanley had finally let himself exist for more than five minutes outside of his suit even more so. Now, he was too focused on the task at hand to spend more than a minute on those kinds of thoughts.

Stanley sank down into bed, hitting the light as he rolled over to face Barclay. Barclay lay on his side, pulling Stanley against his chest and draping an arm loosely over him. Stanley wrapped an arm around Barclay’s waist, and though Barclay could tell Stanley was trying to relax there was a subtle tension in his limbs.

Barclay forced himself not to worry about it and carefully focused on his breathing, letting it slow and even out. He’d been worried Stanley would notice he wasn’t actually asleep, but after a moment Stanley let out a heavy sigh and burrowed his head under Barclay’s chin. It took a while, but eventually Stanley’s breathing settled too, and for the first time in over a week Stanley fell asleep before Barclay.

Barclay didn’t dare move aside from pressing a kiss to the top of Stanley’s head, too afraid of jolting Stanley out of his much needed rest. Instead he lay there with his eyes closed, feeling the tickle of Stanley’s breath on his chest and counting the minutes. As the time passed, Barclay wondered if maybe his hunch about the cause of Stanley’s tiredness was wrong.

Then Stanley stiffened in Barclay’s arms. His breath quickened, the sound of it muffled by Barclay’s chest so that Barclay could _feel_ the distress in each exhale. Stanley’s hand gripped at the back of Barclay’s shirt, and Barclay thought for a moment that Stanley might press closer to him. But he just stayed frozen in place, his breath fluttering fast like a heartbeat and his body much too still. Barclay considered trying to wake him, but something about that stillness was infectious. So he just lay there, feeling sick and powerless and thoroughly unhappy about being right.

After an awful stretch of time Stanley jolted, gasping in air and curling in on himself. He made to wriggle out of Barclay’s grip, and somehow Barclay realized that if he let him go, Stanley would get no more sleep that night. So instead, he gently drew Stanley closer, letting out a soft, sleepy noise to keep his cover in place. A long moment passed, and then Stanley settled back against him. It took longer this time, but eventually Stanley drifted off again. Barclay lay there, trying to keep himself from worrying too much about how likely Stanley was to have another nightmare, but eventually the alarm clock over Stanley’s shoulder told him an hour had passed and Barclay decided it was safe to follow Stanley into sleep. Barclay shut his eyes.

A moment later, he was dreaming of eyes and teeth.

 

[1] It shouldn’t have hurt Stern’s feelings that Barclay had gone back on his promise to stay, but he allowed himself to be anyway. Just for a moment, though. He didn’t want to be _too_ unreasonable.

[2] His good dreams may have followed similar patterns, but Stern could never remember them well enough to be sure.

[3] On the top: the ones where monsters he’d killed lurked around every corner and hissed menacingly. In the middle: the ones where they got the idea to try and kill him back. Shoved in the very back of the closet where he didn’t need to see or think about them: the ones about monsters with human faces.

[4] Its presence _had_ solidified Stern’s affection for Barclay, which had the unfortunate side effect of causing him to forget how terrifying it looked. How could a memory of glinting teeth hold up to the ones he had made after?

[5] After, Stern couldn’t remember what it had looked like, though he was certain it was one he’d seen before.

[6] Once again he was struck by the impression it was someone he knew.

[7] Stern knew, in the way of dreams, that it could have caught him at any time. That it was letting him keep ahead.

[8] Actually, he did have time. There wasn’t anything in particular he had to do today. But if he allowed himself the luxury of sitting around and brooding about this, he’d spend all day on it, which didn’t sound like a particularly enjoyable use of daylight.

[9] Not by too much. His headache was becoming more pressing as he came down from the high of the nightmare, but at least the painkillers had helped a little.

[10] He gave up when he remembered that he was terrible at reading people.

[11] While he had spent the past few days fighting the urge to be rub his relationship with Barclay in her face (at least slightly), his entire…situation was putting a damper on his ability to be properly petty.

[12] He ignored the niggling feeling that this was an attempt to distract him from something. Well, he didn’t totally ignore it. He just let the attempt _work._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that Duck and Stern's friendship hinges on them complaining about the government shut down hinges on the fact that I was listening to the news talk about National Parks being closed while I wrote this.  
> Also, funny story this chapter took so long because it wasn't in the outline I initially wrote for this fic. Neither is the next one. It's fine it's fine I'll figure it out.


	9. Sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay has a bad dream. Stern tells a story. A milestone is reached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding "someone is having a nightmare" to the drinking game for this fic.

Agent Stern sat in the kitchen on an unsteady barstool, watching Barclay slouch through the motions of lunchtime preparations and wondering whether poor sleep was contagious. If Stern wasn’t ten percent of the way to delirium from lack of sleep[1], he might have been able to tell whether the fact that thought didn’t feel entirely ridiculous was an indication that he should start an investigation or an indication that he should take a nap. As it happened, Stern _was_ ten percent of the way to delirium from lack of sleep, which left him both indecisive and worried.

He sighed, pulling his pen from his pocket and twirling it between his fingers. Barclay came to a stop, regarding Stern over an armful of vegetables.

“Something wrong?” Barclay asked. He looked very worried. Come to think of it, Stern was realizing Barclay had looked worried semi-constantly over the past few days. Stern considered smiling reassuringly, then remembered that very few people found his fake reassuring smile reassuring.[2]

“No, I just had an idea about the case,” he said, settling for his normal fake smile[3] instead. He shrugged. “It seems I uh, left my notebook in your room.”[4]

Barclay seemed to accept the answer, despite the fact it was obviously a lie.[5] He set his pile of ingredients down near a cutting board. Then he turned back to Stern, holding a potato in one hand and a knife in the other. Stern resisted the urge to tell Barclay he shouldn’t be handling sharp objects.

“Well, I can hold down the fort while you go get it,” Barclay said, lightly. There was something hesitant in his tone, though, something which Stern was still struggling to identify as Barclay continued. “You know. I can probably even manage long enough for you to get some more sleep.”

Stern searched his brain for a response that wasn’t _I will if you come with me._ Stern might have actually been able to _manage_ a nap with Barclay there. Unfortunately, the concern Stern felt looking at the tired cast to the lines of Barclay’s face hadn’t quite outweighed Stern’s instinctual hesitance toward preventing someone from doing their job. Which meant Stern had to stay in the kitchen as well, because if Barclay had to suffer then it was only proper for Stern to suffer with him.

“No, I’m fine. I actually slept well, last night.” This was true, by Stern’s most recent definition of the word _well._

He had been worried that going to bed early, before he tired himself out enough to make sleep inevitable, would lead to the nightmares showing themselves faster. As it turned out, he was right. Eyes and teeth had shocked him out of sleep at about the time he’d usually consider _going_ to bed, and as Stern tried to force his heartbeat back into a coherent rhythm he had felt a flicker of annoyance at Barclay.

 _He was just trying to help,_ Stern had thought, _he doesn’t know what a mess you are._ The annoyance disappeared, leaving Stern feeling vaguely guilty.[6] Ordinarily he would have lain in bed for a few minutes, letting his breath slow a bit before engaging in his tried and true method of dealing with nightmares,[7]  but shame had him attempting to extricate himself from Barclay’s arms as soon as he stopped tasting copper in his mouth. Barclay had only tightened his grip on Stern, however, and eventually Stern was forced to give up and sleep.

When Stern woke, Barclay had still been asleep. That was to be expected. What surprised him was the fact that, once he managed to pry Barclay’s arms off his shoulders and sit up, the clock read 6:30am.

“Barclay,” he had whispered, voice garbled in his throat. Barclay had groaned, and Stern had had to shake him to get his eyes open.

Stern hid a yawn behind his hand. Barclay frowned, looking far more concerned than the situation warranted. Stern thought this was a bit unfair, given that he’d caught Barclay doing the same not ten minutes ago.

“That doesn’t look like sleeping well to me,” Barclay mused, turning back to the counter to begin dicing his potatoes. Stern listened to the solid chopping noise for a moment.

“I always feel worse the sleep after an all-nighter,” Stern replied, hopefully before he’d been silent for too long. Barclay’s cutting paused, letting Stern know he had failed.

“If you say so.”

There was a long period of quiet as Barclay continued his work. Stern watched Barclay’s back, fiddling with his pen and worrying. Then, he worried about whether the amount of worry he felt was an overreaction. Then, he worried about Barclay handling sharp objects while clearly exhausted.

“Do you want any help?” Stern asked, wondering whether this was how Barclay had felt over the past week.[8]

Barclay turned back to him, giving him a speculative look.

“How are you at chopping onions?”

“I’m sure I can manage.”

Barclay smiled ever so slightly and waved him over. Stern slipped his pen back into his pocket as Barclay set down a second cutting board, taking an offered knife. He took an onion from the counter and squinted at it for a moment, realizing he was very much _not_ sure he could manage. Barclay must have seen his desperation, because his smile widened as he ghosted his free hand over the small of Stern’s lower back.

“The pieces don’t need to be even. Just slice it small enough you’d be willing to eat it.”

Stern hummed softly in acknowledgement and set about peeling his onion, the two of them falling into what Stern supposed ought to be a comfortable silence. His calm was somewhat marred by the sharp sound of knife cutting into crisp onion, too close to snapping teeth as it drew his mind back to his most recent dream.

The dream had begun calmly, so much so Stern hesitated to label it a nightmare. He had his case notes spread out in front of him on a wooden table, files and files of Bigfoot’s suspected crimes laid out in chronological order. This was something he’d done in the waking world more than once, but it had never filled him with the abject terror that choked him this time. Despite the small print on the documents, Stern could read every word as if they were under a magnifying glass. He shut his eyes, willing himself to reach forward and close the files, but his hands maintained their death grip on the edge of the table.

After what felt like hours of standing frozen, resisting the urge to open his eyes again, he’d felt the weight of eyes against on his back. Pinned between the table and the thing he knew was lurking just behind him, the terror gave way to the sinking realization that he had nowhere to run. So he turned slowly, wrinkling his nose as the thing with eyes and teeth breathed rank air directly into his face from its many gaping mouths.

Despite his fear, he managed to look straight at the creature in front of him.[9] As he slept he knew exactly how it looked, but as soon as he woke this surety dissolved and all he could remember was a thing which blurred from one shape to another in the way of dreams. It let out a low noise which might have been a growl or a laugh, filling Stern’s ears, his chest, all the air around him and in his lungs. Then it opened one set of powerful jaws, and a moment later Stern felt the hot pain of needle teeth sinking into his throat.

Stern resisted the urge to reach up and check his throat for bite marks, instead chancing a glance at Barclay. Thankfully, Barclay seemed too consumed with his own work to notice Stern’s distraction. Stern tried to disguise the shaky breath he took, focusing on the even motion of the knife as much as possible.[10]

It had been a miracle that he’d gotten back to sleep.[11] Stern had never died in a dream before, only almost died. Waking just before the moment of his death had been unsettling, but it was a mild disturbance compared to the feeling of every breath he took escaping out of the wound in his throat before it could reach his lungs.

“So, you say you slept better last night?” Barclay asked, voice casual in a manner that was almost certainly forced.

Stern considered telling Barclay about his dream. It would probably make him feel better. But then he remembered his realization on New Year’s Day, that he’d spent the past few weeks telling Barclay all those shortcomings which he had never admitted to anyone. It wasn’t embarrassment which fueled that thought, but a sudden feeling of having failed as he realized Barclay never admitted anything back.

 _No,_ he thought as he glanced over again. _I can’t worry him more than I already have. Not now, especially._

“It was shaky for a little while,” he said instead, “but I got through it. Because of you, actually.”

“Yeah?” Barclay asked, pausing in his cutting and grinning at him. Stern stopped as well and smiled back. The curve of Barclay’s mouth was tired, but real.[12]

* * *

Barclay had worried at first that Stanley was lying about sleeping better. But as the days passed Barclay realized that the statement true, at least in the literal sense of the word. Stanley was definitely sleeping better, exhaustion giving way to a vague air of weariness that was concerning but definitely tolerable. Still, Barclay was pretty sure the nightmares hadn’t stopped. Barclay could see that in the fact that Stanley seemed to have given up trying to ease off what Aubrey called his “RBF – Resting Bureau Face,” except when Barclay put effort into drawing some kind of legitimate emotion out of him.

As Barclay lay awake in the small hours of the morning, wishing he could sleep for another five minutes or maybe fall into a coma for a year or two, he wondered if nightmares might be contagious.

The first one had almost made sense. Barclay didn’t get nightmares all that often, and any that did pop up usually dissolved into a vague feeling of wrongness as soon as he woke. But if he _were_ the kind of person who remembered his nightmares, then his first was the kind he figured he’d have.

He’d been standing in front of a wooden table, news articles and bureau reports spread out in front of him. The print on them was small, but even at a distance he could read every word perfectly and he soon realized that this was the case Stanley had built against him. Dread had built up in Barclay’s throat as he read about each disappearance and realized he had no memory of what he was doing on those days. In the back of his mind Barclay knew he must have _some_ kind of alibi, or if nothing else there was no way he could be responsible, but the rest of him wondered _what if I was._ Seconds, minutes, maybe hours passed, and then Barclay felt something breathing on the back of his neck. He turned and found himself frozen in place, stared down by a hulking shape made of eyes and teeth. It opened its many mouths into ugly grins, and then Barclay woke. His heart finally managed to escape from his throat as he realized the breathing had only been Stanley, who was still solidly asleep behind him.

The next nightmares were a lot less logical. He dreamt of a house on fire, of watching a comet crash into a house, that same house on fire again but from the inside. All the while he could sense something watching him and knew that it had many eyes, but every time he turned to look he opened his eyes. Still, he always turned, because he wanted to be sure. Barclay’s only comfort those mornings was in the fact that, unlike Stanley’s nightmares, his never woke him. It wasn’t much comfort, since they left him tired enough they may as well have. Well, they didn’t wake him until that Thursday morning, when he found himself peering morosely at the alarm clock to find it was only 3:30am.

The dreams were probably just stress, he realized as he stared at the ceiling.  Probably stress from _Stanley_ being stressed, specifically. Barclay found himself getting a little irritated about that, which he tried his best to attribute to being tired because that was soundly unfair. Stanley hadn’t done anything to cause trouble, he was just way less skilled at pretending to be fine than he thought he was.

Besides, Stanley was helping the situation plenty, too. Barclay had thought Stanley was perpetually close during the weeks only  _he_ was having nightmares, but once Barclay slipped past the point of being able to pretend nothing was wrong Stanley started  _hovering._ Barclay considered being offended the first time Stanley set down a banana in front of him, then realized that he had been too busy worrying to eat all morning, and at that point he had just decided to let it happen. Let Stanley be a constant presence next to him. Let Stanley make sure that, when making sure everything at the lodge got taken care of, Barclay didn’t manage to forget himself.

But no matter how much Stanley had done, the last dream was definitely his fault.

He’d been standing on a stone outcropping in the woods, breath frosting in front of him as he waited for something. As the moments passed, he became aware of the cold grip of a gun in his hand. He lifted it up, staring at the black plastic which stood so starkly against the white snow all around him. Cold burned his nose and throat as he waited there, listening to the bird calls that almost seemed to be on a loop around him and staring at the gun in his hands.

There was a noise below him, and as he blinked a dark shape appeared on the forest ground below. Without conscious thought he raised the gun, aiming with a precision that was not his own, and as the bullet struck the figure he realized it had his face.

He dropped the gun and the world began to collapse, trees dissolving into ash and the rock beneath him crumbling until he was left sprawled on a flat plane of white snow. Alone, except for a thing with eyes and teeth which pinned him in place with heavy claws. It leaned in close, teeth scraping against the skin of Barclay’s throat. And as the itch of it turned to stinging pain, Barclay woke.

“Is something wrong?” Stanley asked, voice cracked with recent sleep.

“Nah I was, uh. Just…thinking.”

“Mm.” Stanley sounded unconvinced, but he didn’t say anything else and for a moment Barclay thought he’d escaped having to talk about it. Then Stanley sighed. “You know, if you ever need to talk, I’m here.” He threaded his fingers through Barclay’s and squeezed his hand hesitantly. “It’s only fair, seeing as you’re always dealing with _my_ problems.”

There was a self-deprecating edge to Stanley’s voice, and it kept Barclay from dismissing the idea immediately like he normally would. Barclay, as a policy, didn’t tell people things that might be considered “secrets” by anyone’s definition of the word. Feelings, sure. He’d never been good at keeping those hidden, and he’d lived too long for repression to be reasonable. But telling one secret always seemed to lead to telling another one, and then another one, and Barclay knew damn well where that Bigfoot-shaped Matryoshka doll would land him if anyone ever got to the inside of it.

Barclay swallowed as the memory of hot, animal breath hit him again, and as he glanced over at Stanley’s sleepily earnest face he decided he’d already kind of fucked up his policies by landing here in the first place.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay. I uh, had a bad dream. Which, you know, I don’t usually remember them so it was just a little…” He paused as he searched for the right word. “Bad. It was as bad.”

“Is this the first one?” Stanley asked, his expression a sure sign that he knew the answer.

“No I uh. It’s been a couple of days.”

Stanley hummed thoughtfully.

“Are we talking about my kind of nightmares, or the ‘forgot your clothes on the first day of school’ kind of nightmares?”

Barclay choked out a breath of laughter.

“Definitely yours. Actually, think I might’ve _stolen_ one of yours tonight. Two of yours even. I uh, may have shot a monster that turned out to be human.” He laughed again, nervously this time. “The whole Bigfoot thing must be getting to me.”

“Sorry.” Stanley frowned regretfully as he said it, so Barclay leaned over to softly kiss it away.

“Not your fault. _You’re_ not Bigfoot. You aren’t Bigfoot, right?”

“Not last I checked.” That succeeded in smoothing out the worry on Stanley’s face, at least for the moment. “Still, I can’t imagine you enjoyed that.”

“No I, uh. I haven’t exactly killed anybody before.”

“Of course not,” Stanley said, a certainty to his voice that Barclay hoped would still be there if the truth ever came out. “Was it anyone you know?”

“No, no. Thank god.” That wasn’t technically a lie. “I only had a second to look at ‘em, anyway. Then the second part started up and…shit, I think I died at the end of the second part.”

His face must have arranged itself into something really pathetic, because a second later Stanley had reached around Barclay and pulled him into a hug.

“You don’t actually _have_ to tell me, if it’s making this worse. I just thought it might help.”

Barclay considered that, face pressed into the hollow of Stanley’s throat. It was an unfamiliar place for him to end up, seeing as Stanley was at least five inches shorter than him and had always just kind…fit pressed against his chest. But the strangeness of it grounded him a little bit somehow, and his voice was steadier when he answered.

“Nah,” he said, and he could feel Stanley suppressing a laugh as the Barclay’s breath hit his skin. Barclay smiles. He’d never thought all that hard about whether Stanley was ticklish. He pulled away slightly, because he didn’t think he could manage a serious conversation while Stanley was trying not to laugh. “It is, I think. I mean, it’s better than lying there feeling sorry for myself at least.”

“Oh thank god.” Stanley sounded legitimately relieved. Barclay leaned back a little more to look Stanley in the eyes. When that made talking feel too awkward, he looked at Stanley’s chin instead.

“Anyway. I uh. Died in the second part. That’s pretty much _all_ that happened in the second part.” Barclay felt himself shiver. “There was this thing with…a lot of eyes. And teeth. It had way too many teeth.”

The description struck Barclay as familiar when he said it out loud, but the context slipped away from him when he tried to chase it. What _didn’t_ escape him, however, was the fear that twitched over Stanley’s face for just a moment.

“Anyway,” he continued once he realized there’d be no puzzling out the meaning behind that expression. “That’s it. I…” He felt an opportunity click into place and, ignoring the feeling he might be taking advantage of the Stanley’s concern for him, chased it. “Hey, so. Thinking about Bigfoot has got me wondering something. And you don’t have to answer me, of course but…I figure it might be good to uh, get my mind off the dreams.”

“Yeah?” There was a bit of worry gathering in Stanley’s expression, which told Barclay his question would probably be a bust. But he’d already started, so he forged on.

“When you were drunk and you showed me that page about Ned being Bigfoot, you told me it was a joke. I figured you just came up with that whole thing ‘cuz Ned’s, you know, hairy and suspicious looking, but then you said something about how you wished you _actually_ had any idea who in town was secretly Bigfoot and I was just wondering whether that was serious.”

Barclay regretted the lie in an instant when Stanley paled, retreating back from Barclay and regarding him with wide eyes.

“I said that?” He asked. “I don’t remember that.” There was something lost in his voice, like he was doubting something vital about himself.

“Yeah.” Barclay tried to sound casual and failed. Guilt settled in properly, and he continued, “I don’t know why I bothered bringing it up. You said it the same way you said the Ned thing, so I figured you were joking.”

Stanley’s face smoothed into his customary mask, and for a second Barclay thought he’d take the out. Then he shook his head and sat up, resting his head in his hands.

“No, no. It wasn’t a joke,” he admitted miserably. He took a deep, shaky breath and peered at Barclay through his fingers. “Have you told anyone?”

“Of course not,” Barclay lied again, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel too bad about when Stanley’s shoulders sagged in relief.

“Good. Good. I…” Stanley paused, and Barclay wondered what his expression looked like under his hands. “I’ve told you some things about the case that I have preceded with a disclaimer about how I shouldn’t be saying them. That’s…that’s not something I usually do at all, Barclay. But I like you, and you listen, so I figured there’d be no harm in complaining about how the case isn’t going anywhere, or the fact that Agent Richmond isn’t happy about it. I’ve done that in part because I trust you, but also because those bits of information aren’t _that_ sensitive. My superiors wouldn’t be happy if things got back to them and it is decidedly unprofessional, but…”

Stanley was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke again his voice was so quiet Barclay almost missed it.

“I have many shortcomings as an agent, Barclay. I try my best to do my job in spite of them, and I very rarely fail to do so. Revealing that kind of information isn’t a shortcoming I can afford to have, even if I _was_ drunk. I didn’t think it _was_ one I had.” He ran his hands through his hair and settled them on the back of his neck. “This might not _seem_ like an important secret to keep, but it wouldn’t be good if Bigfoot figured out I was onto it. And my superiors? Well, they would be more than just unhappy if they found out.” Stanley regarded Barclay seriously. “No one can know about this, Barclay.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Barclay reassured him, sitting up next to Stanley and settling a cautious hand on his shoulder. Stanley leaned into the touch, which only made Barclay feel worse about the entire thing.

“I know.” Stanley smiled weakly. “Thank you.”

Barclay was about to smile back, but then a thought wiggled into his mind.

“Wait. You said you’re afraid someday you’ll kill a monster and it’ll turn out to be a person.”

“I did.”

“If Bigfoot _is_ a person, then-“

“Bigfoot isn’t a person,” Stanley interrupted. His mouth twisted into an ugly shape for a moment, then he plastered his vaguely pleasant mask on so solidly it made Barclay sick. Barclay swallowed, moving his hand from off Stanley’s shoulder as Stanley continued, voice even. “It can look like a person. There’s a difference.”

Barclay bit back a shiver.

“How do you know that, though?”

“It’s the prime suspect in thirty missing person’s cases, Barclay.”

“Is there any evidence? Aside from the fact that people saw him nearby, I mean.” The look Stanley gave him at that was cold, and Barclay scrambled for some clarification that might make it seem less like he was baselessly defending a cryptid that might also be a mass murderer. He steeled himself and reached for Stanley again. “I just…one of the first things you told me is that you never want to kill anyone. I want to make sure you don’t do anything you’d hate yourself for.”

Stanley deflated. His expression didn’t slip, but when he spoke again his voice was softer and tinged with something Barclay hoped was fondness.

“I appreciate it. I really do. But I’m sure about this.”

Barclay almost dropped the subject, but he could see that Stanley was waiting for the question he wanted to ask.

“How?”

“Did I tell you I lost my sense of smell on a case, or did I dream that?” Stanley asked. Barclay nodded numbly, not liking the direction that was going at all. “That was the first time I saw a monster, and also first contact between Bigfoot and The FBI.”

First contact. F.C. August 3rd, 2002. _Shit,_ Barclay thought, hoping the tightening of his jaw wasn’t too obvious. _Shit, how did I not realize._ He hadn’t exactly been in a state to keep track of days, back then. Or months, really. But the summer of 2002 was when he met Thacker and Mama and, more relevant to this particular clusterfuck of a situation, the first and only time he’d been in a showdown with The FBI.

“You’re saying Bigfoot gave you a concussion?”

Stanley nodded, and his voice still had a bit of that awful detachment in it as he replied. “More specifically, Bigfoot threw me out a window.”

 _Shit,_ Barclay thought again, because he did in fact remember throwing an FBI agent out a window. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the guy’s face, given that the move had been one hundred percent fueled by panic.

“You know why he did that?” Barclay asked, even though he knew very well. There’d been an abomination right behind him, and in the split second he had for decision making he’d come to the conclusion that falling out of a second story window was less bad than getting mauled by a snake monster that could turn invisible.

Of course, Mama had collared the thing just a few seconds after he’d pushed the agent out, which was just about a perfect representation of the way Barclay’s luck had been that year. Then, he’d heard an absolute cacophony of sirens in the distance which was _also_ a perfect representation of the way Barclay’s luck had been that year. So he’d checked the FBI agent to make sure he was still alive and then ran in the opposite direction of the noise, fingers shaking as he tried to re-tie the bracelet around his wrist.

“There might be cryptids out there that are reasonable…people. If I didn’t think that was possible then I wouldn’t dream about it.” Stanley’s mask finally slid back off, though the haunted look in his eyes wasn’t much better. “You didn’t see it, though. Trust me, Bigfoot’s not like that.”

For the first time, Barclay found himself considering how that scene must have looked to the FBI agent. To Stanley. He pictured Stanley on stakeout in an empty office building, startled out of whatever he was doing as he heard a loud roar. That had been the abomination, but Stanley would have had no way to know that. He’d have heard that noise and turned around in time to catch sight of a wide-eyed, charging Bigfoot. Barclay had been a little too busy fleeing the law in those days to bother with things like hygiene, which meant he was probably covered in mud and leaves, and there was no way he smelled pretty. Stanley might not have registered that, though, given that a second later the monster was tackling him out an open window. Then, probably half-conscious and delirious from a head injury – and boy howdy was that not helping the guilt Barclay already felt – Stanley had managed to look up in time to watch the thing that had almost killed him turn into a man and run away.

“Yeah, I suppose I didn’t see it,” Barclay said, resigned. He pressed a kiss to the side of Stanley’s forehead and Stanley relaxed all the way, letting Barclay pull him closer. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I was doubting you, I just…”

“Want to make sure I don’t make a decision I’ll regret, I know.” Stanley sighed. “You know, this was supposed to be me listening to _your_ problems, not the other way around.”

Barclay thought that they very much _had_ talked about his problems, but he couldn’t say that.

“Yeah, well. I like to listen.”

“I know.” Stanley’s smile was back, soft and finally something Barclay could bear to look at head on. “It’s what I love about you.” Stanley stilled. “I didn’t mean…” He sighed, looking surprised, embarrassed, relieved. “No, I did. I did mean that.”

“Me too,” Barclay responded, not even intending to speak until the words were already in open air. Stanley took Barclay’s hand and turned to kiss him on the lips. It was a soft, slow thing, and Barclay let himself just enjoy it for a moment.

Then, he acknowledged the fact that he was most definitely fucked.

 

[1] A fairly conservative estimate.

[2] Most people didn’t even find his real reassuring smile all that reassuring.

[3] Which, he realized belated, was probably even worse.

[4] Very good lie, Agent Stern. There’s no way he’ll see through that.

[5] Which either meant Barclay was more tired than Stern had thought, or _Stern_ was more tired than Stern had thought and it was crippling his ability to read people.

[6] If he were being honest with himself, it was more than vaguely.

[7] Read: sitting in the corner and scowling powerlessly at a blank page in his notebook until his frustration at his own ineptness tired him out enough to go back to sleep. Or the sun rose. Usually until the sun rose.

[8] It was absolutely terrible. For a moment, Stern missed the times when the only thing he had to worry about were his own shortcomings. Then he felt guilty instead, because Barclay had been managing to worry competently whenever _Stern_ was having troubles. Relationships were difficulty.

[9] Once he realized there would be no escape, Stern felt it his duty as an investigator to finally get a good look at the thing which had been shadowing him for so long.

[10] He hoped that the sting in his eyes was solely from the onion.

[11] Sure, he was pretty sure it had taken at least an hour. But that was only marginally longer than the time it took to recover from his usual brand of nightmare. This one felt like it should have been more of a challenge.

[12] This, this was the right thing to do. Making Barclay smile seemed a decent enough repayment for all the worry Stern had caused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you fall in love at first sight, and sometimes you declare the guy you're GOING to fall in love with your mortal enemy after he tackles you out a window and runs away.  
> Anyway, there's only a few more chapters left of this thing (I'm planning on 1 to 2 plus an epilogue but like. This is a TAZ fic so maybe I'll pull a Griffin and it'll go on a lot longer). After THAT I'll be jumping into a fic for [the Amnesty Minibang](https://amnestyminibang.tumblr.com/post/182148460059/calling-all-the-amnesty-fic-writers-the-sign-ups). There's still a few days left to sign up (a lot of days, if you're an artist), and ya'll should definitely all join!  
> On that note, I'd like to say thanks so much to everyone that's been leaving comments! I refrain from responding to every one, because the idea of half my fic's reviews being from me makes me a little self conscious, but there have been several times where I've screenshotted reviews and sent them to a friend with a keysmash attached. I've ended up quite attached to this thing, and I'm glad to see that other people like it too.


	10. Closing In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern eavesdrops. Barclay realizes something. Something is closing in.

It took Stern some time to fall back to sleep after his impromptu declaration of love.[1] After their kiss they had fallen back on the bed, shoulder to shoulder with their hands threaded together. Stern hadn’t bothered to hold back his grin, but _had_ held back the desire to get up and do _something._ His admission had made him feel restless in the best way, and it felt as if the only thing anchoring him in his skin was the warmth of Barclay against his side. They’d lain there silently just smiling at one another, and in his contentment Stern barely registered the hint of sadness, or perhaps fear, in Barclay’s expression.[2]

“You should probably get some sleep,” Stern said after a minute of memorizing the curve of Barclay’s lips.[3]

“You too.”

“Let’s shake on it, then,” Stern declared, lifting their entwined hands from the bed and shaking them slightly. Barclay chuckled.

“Yeah, you should definitely go to bed. That was _terrible._ ”

“I’m honored you think sleep deprivation is the only thing that could ruin my jokes.”

Barclay tried to glare at him, but couldn’t contain the fondness in his eyes. Stern brought their hands up again and pressed a kiss to Barclay’s knuckles.

“Goodnight,” he said, voice softer than he’d thought it could be.

Barclay replied by squeezing Stern’s hand.

“Goodnight.”

Stern closed his eyes, and was instantly left with a bundle of thoughts to stop him from sleeping. At first it was a formless giddiness he hadn’t felt in a long time[4], followed shortly by the thought _why didn’t I know sooner?_ He’d known there wouldn’t be a single, crystal moment where he fell in love, but he’d hoped for a moment of realization at least. A moment where he told himself _I think I’ve loved this man for a while._ If there had been, he could have prepared himself. Confessed in a way that wasn’t embarrassing, if not because he’d tried to take the words back for a moment then because it was an obvious statement in hindsight. Instead, Stern hadn’t known until he’d said it aloud, his confession as much to himself as it was to Barclay.[5] Still, despite the fact that there were hundreds of more effective ways to have said those words for the first time, he couldn’t regret it. Not when Barclay returned the sentiment with so little hesitation.

Stern spent several minutes turning over those thoughts like a precious stone, watching how every angle caught in the light. It was only as he was feeling settled enough to put them away and sleep that unease wormed its way into his awareness. This was not the piercing dread from his own dreams, but rather something which lurked on the edges of his thoughts and skittered away when he tried to catch it. There had been something bothering him, before his confession.

Was it just telling the Bigfoot story? It had been years since he’d actually had to; his coworkers at UP were always perfectly willing to tell newer members that he was the guy Bigfoot threw out a window, though he thought they underestimated exactly how certain he had been that he was going to die. He had thought about stopping them at first, but the anecdote made people laugh and Stern was willing to be polite and pretend it was one of those things that even he found amusing in hindsight if it kept people from looking worriedly in his direction.[6] It also meant that whenever the Bigfoot investigation became relevant he just so happened to find the case files on his desk, even the ones he shouldn’t have access to. All this, without ever having to actually revisit the incident. Until now.

It was only logical that the story would be the source of his discomfort. He remembered mandatory therapy the months after it happened[7], how they always seemed to lead back to him not repressing his trauma. As far as Stern was concerned there was very little repression involved[8], but from an objective point of view this was the first time in over a decade he’d actually had to think through the individual moments. The story hadn’t made him uncomfortable, however; it had just made him feel hollow.[9]

Which also might be making him feel uneasy, the rational part of his brain supplied. This didn’t feel like the answer, however.[10] In fact, he seemed to remember feeling off-balance even before telling the story. He had told the story _because_ he felt off-balance. So many things had happened since then and this moment, though, and just as he grasped the concept of something having been wrong _before_ his body decided it was too tired for the kind of complex thought necessary to chase it.

Instead, he hoped that he would remember the past hour or so in the morning and went to sleep.

 

Stern did in fact remember that hour or so. He remembered it well enough, in fact, that he got caught up in the exact same conundrum of _what is bothering me_ as he had the previous night. Not immediately or totally, of course. He managed to get out of the room, interrupt Barclay in the kitchen, and say “I love you” again[11] before he even thought about his conundrum. Once he’d considered the feeling again, it had been a backdrop of his thoughts the entire morning.[12] By lunch he felt as if he were closing in on the answer, even if he kept getting distracted by the daily noise of the lodge.[13] Then, he found himself being given a hint in the form of a bit of accidental eavesdropping.

“No offense Barclay, but you’re startin’ to look as shit as Stanley did last week. I mean, not _as_ shit, ‘cuz I was starting to actually worry about the guy’s health. But you’re looking…not good.”

Stern took his hand off the door knob. He’d returned to Barclay’s room to retrieve his journal, which he found himself leaving more often than he really ought to regardless of his feelings on the matter of Barclay’s trustworthiness. Then he’d turned to a fresh page, making a timeline of the events of last night.[14] This didn’t take very long, but apparently in those few minutes Barclay had entered the kitchen with Duck, Ned, and Aubrey and struck up a conversation.

Technically, there was nothing stopping Stern from opening the door. Except for the fact that Duck had mentioned him, and so appearing at this precise moment might make things awkward. Which of course meant he ought to back away from the door and not listen in.

Stern leaned closer instead.

“Yeah, is Stern keeping you awake or something?”

“You keep your eyebrows right where they are, Aubrey Little.”

“What? I just meant that he’s having nightmares and might be waking you up!” Stern could practically hear her grin from the other side of the door. He was pretty sure he ought to find the nosiness irritating, but somehow it was endearing. How did she do that?

“No, they’re not. I haven’t even been waking up. It’s just...well, it hasn’t been _Stanley’s_ nightmare’s that’ve been the problem.”

“Huh, maybe it’s catching,” Ned said, something unreadable in his voice.

“Shit, maybe. Haven’t exactly been gettin’ restful sleep the past couple nights myself. I mean, nothin’ too bad, had a lot worse, just not usually more than a night in a row.”

“Wait, _all_ of you are having bad dreams? Are you sure it’s not…” If Aubrey finished that sentence, she did so too quietly to be heard, even through the Barclay’s thin door.

“Fucking hope not,” Duck replied, “I’m tired of weird shit happening in my dreams. Only good thing about this whole,” he paused, and when he continued again he sounded a little pained, “situation I’ve been having is that I don’t gotta deal with that anymore.”

This was quickly becoming a conversation that, as Barclay’s boyfriend[15], he shouldn’t be listening in on. As someone who was duty bound to uncover any suspicious happenings in Kepler, however, he probably ought to be. In the end he kept by the door, not out of professional obligation but personal curiosity.[16]

* * *

“I wouldn’t precisely categorize _my_ dreams as _weird,_ per se.” Ned said from where he was leaning against the counter. “It was…” He shivered, “well, it was something from my distant past, which most _certainly_ bears no relevance to our present situation…” Barclay wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw Ned’s eyes dart over toward Aubrey for a split second. “Anyway, the worst part about it was the thing in the background.”

“What thing?” Duck asked, suddenly looking interested, and just a little worried. Barclay was right there with him.

“Well, it was this big black bastard. Gave me the heeby-jeebies. Fifty percent eyes, fifty percent teeth, a hundred percent something I wanted to get as far away from me as possible. Of course, then it murdered me, which was also a _strongly_ negative experience. I’ve never been murdered before, and I would very much have liked to stay innocent to that whole experience.”

“A giant monster killed you?” Barclay asked, because even though he’d had a kind of abstract feeling that was what it was, it surprised him.

“Fuck,” Duck said, eloquently.

“Yes! It was very distressing.”

“Naw. I mean. Well, yeah. It was distressing. To me, I mean. When the exact same shit happened in _my_ dream.”

“Hmm. Most peculiar.” Ned tried to stroke his beard nonchalantly, but he was obviously shaken.

“Is this the sort of thing we should tell Mama about? I mean it’s not that time of the month. And by time of the month, I mean abomination time. But, you know. It could be something.” Aubrey’s voice was pitched low, as if trying to keep their discussion a secret even from the empty room around them.

“Maybe. Yeah. I mean it can’t hurt, can it?” Barclay decided. “Think she’s downstairs right now, may as well go have a meeting.”

Everyone nodded, looking a lot more serious than they usually did this early in a case. It didn’t exactly help Barclay’s nerves, but he couldn’t blame them. They filed out of the kitchen, and Aubrey, Duck, and Ned made a beeline toward the door. Barclay hung back a moment, scanning the room for Stanley. Stanley had been doing better, lately, but the possibility this was an abomination left Barclay doubting his certainty about that progress. So did the fact that Stanley wasn’t in either of his usual hang out spots by the bar or at his table in to corner, so Barclay settled for hoping he was in his own room – not the woods, seeing has ninety-five percent of the time abomination fights ended up happening there – and followed the rest of the team.

Downstairs, everyone had gathered around the table. Aubrey was sitting backward on her chair, frowning thoughtfully and snapping a flame in and out of existence between her fingers. Duck sat across from her, in a near silent conversation with Ned. Mama was watching them all from a few feet away, and judging by the expectant look on her face everyone had decided to wait for Barclay before they started. Barclay made his way to the table, but as he pulled out his chair he felt something staring at him. He turned.

And there was Thacker, standing in the center of the kitchen floor and staring him dead in the eyes.

It had hurt, getting used to the way this shell of Thacker had gone back and forth between frenzy and blankness. Now Barclay kind of wished Thacker were wearing one of those expressions, even though that kind of seemed like a dick thing to want. In place of that mindlessness was a sharpness that triggered some kind of fear response in the oldest parts of Barclay’s brain. Even without Thacker’s glasses he seemed to be seeing perfectly well, or even seeing something that wasn’t entirely physical. There was none of Thacker’s fondness in the look Barclay was being given, no anger at being locked up, just the curiosity one would direct at a colony of ants. Whoever was under Thacker’s skin was completely lucid, and also very much not Thacker.

“Uh, shit. That’s probably bad, right? Every time he does something weird like that it’s been bad.” Aubrey began passing her flame between her fingers, watching Thacker as she did.

“He’s been doin’ this shit all morning,” Mama said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Thought I might be able to get him to do some talking, seein’ as the last time he was in the mood for a staring contest he decided to play twenty questions with Aubrey. But nah, whatever’s got him just decided it wanted to mix things up I guess.”

Barclay slowly walked the length of the room, parallel to Thacker’s makeshift cell. Thacker’s head swiveled to follow him, the rest of his body still as a photograph. Barclay wasn’t sure he was even breathing.

“Okay, well. Not as bad as the whole wall-running spider shit, but I’m still not a fan.” Duck paused and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Uh, sorry ‘bout sayin’ that. Know he’s your friend and all. He’s just real…”

“I know he’s fucking spooky, Duck. Sayin’ that’s not gonna hurt our feelings.” Mama pursed her lips, then shook her head. “Come on back over, Barclay. I’m told we’ve got things to talk about, and Thacker ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Barclay really, really hoped that Mama hadn’t jinxed that, but he sat down. Aubrey started passing the flame between her fingers faster, watching Thacker as he continued to watch Barclay.

“It’s going to be harder to fix him than I thought, isn’t it?” She asked, her voice subdued. “I mean, that’s saying a lot, because I knew it was going to be hard but…” The fire sputtered out, replaced by a soft white light which pooled in her palms. “I don’t know if this will be enough.”

“I mean, only thing we can do is try,” Duck reassured her. “Same as we always do.”

She sighed and closed her hands, the glow disappearing.

“Yeah, I guess.” She still looked a little despondent, and Barclay felt sympathy tighten in his chest. After Thacker had disappeared, it’d taken a while for him to accept there might be nothing he or Mama could do to get him back. In the end they’d both kind of given up all the way, and when Mama had gone off and found him the first thing Barclay’d felt and covered up as quickly as he could was anger at the two of them for not having tried harder. He bit the inside of his cheek, turning his head to meet Thacker’s dark eyes, and realized he’d given up on fixing him too.

Thank god for Duck Newton for putting things in perspective, Barclay supposed. For a guy that’d been going on about being useless to the team just a couple days ago, he’d sure found a new niche quick.

“Listen, I’m all for team huddles about saving Thacker, I really am,” Mama cut in, “But that ain’t why you came down here, is it?”

“Why yes, there was another reason,” Ned answered. “You see, it appears that my compatriots and I are-“

“They’re having nightmares,” Aubrey interrupted, before Ned could get too far down the rabbit hole of over-explanation.

“What, like Stern’s been having?” Mama asked. She squinted thoughtfully. “You’re thinkin’ this isn’t a coincidence.”

“We all had company in our dreams, and it was damn mean company,” Duck crossed his arms. “Fucker with a whole lotta eyes and a whole lotta teeth.”

At those words, Thacker lunged forward, chains clinking as he jolted to the end of their reach. Everyone in the room jumped, fire springing to life in Aubrey’s hand and Duck muttering something along the lines of _aw shit, why the hell’d I leave Beacon in my dresser?_ Thacker tangled his fingers in the net which held him back, and Barclay hoped he was imagining the fact that the nails seemed more pointed than they normally were. Slowly, his head tilted to the side, just a little too far to be natural, and then he went still again. Watching.

“Well, guessin’ we’re on the right track then,” Mama deadpanned. “So, you’re sayin’ there’s something with…eyes and lots of teeth? That ain’t a lot to go on.”

Barclay swallowed, a memory from last night tugging at his attention.

“Ugh.” Aubrey scrunched up her nose. “This is gonna be _terrible_ to investigate. How are we supposed to hunt _dreams?_ ”

Stern had looked afraid last night, when Barclay described the monster in his dream. Which made sense, seeing as he’d probably seen the exact same thing in his. But that memory sparked another one, one that settled a stone of dread into his stomach.

“Well we’d better hurry up and figure it out,” Mama shot back with grim finality. “We’ve only got seven days before this thing gets out of Kepler.”

“I’ve got some bad news, guys,” Barclay said, his voice distant in his own ears.

“Aw, shit. Is it about the timing thing? Full moon’s not for two weeks, why’s it so early?” Duck glanced at Thacker, like he had some sort of answer. Which maybe he did, but that wasn’t what Barclay had been thinking of.

“I mean, that two. But mine, uh, I’d say it’s a little worse.”

“I hate to say this, ‘cuz it’s never gone well, but what the hell could be worse than that?” Mama asked.

This thing’s been in Kepler a lot longer than a week.”

 

[1] Which had gone differently than Stern would have imagined, if he’d let himself imagine it at all.

[2] That sort of thing was a problem for a future Stern who wasn’t in as good a mood as present Stern.

[3] Stern was not ordinarily a romantic, and it took him several seconds to realize that was what he was doing.

[4] So long, in fact, that he couldn’t be sure the last time wasn’t a half-remembered nostalgia of youth.

[5] Somehow, there was barely any self-recrimination attached to these thoughts. They were ones Stern had, because if Stern wasn’t overthinking something then there had to be some sort of mental incapacitation involved, but there wasn’t actually any shame.

[6] This was what his old colleagues had done, before UP. Though he could never be sure whether that was because they sympathized with his distress or because they thought him mentioning a cryptid had attempted to murder him meant his concussion had left lasting damage. He wasn’t even certain about the agents that had been on the case with him, the ones who had been there when they chased Bigfoot into the area. Those looks were what made Stern fully realize how easily people could manipulate what they had seen into a more believable shape.

[7] First with a man who Stern had known not to mention Bigfoot in front of, then a woman who had led the session by handing him his own unredacted case report and telling him to speak freely.

[8] He acknowledged he was affected, he just had very little desire to revisit the incident in any detail.

[9] Well, except at the end.

[10] Of course that might also be the trauma, said rational part of his brain continued to insist. Stern ignored it, because the rational part of his brain often reminded him of his coworkers at UP in that if he conceded it had any sort of point he wouldn’t be able to propose any other solutions to the problem. If he couldn’t figure out another explanation then he’d admit it was right. He’d be annoyed, but he would.

[11] Barclay had replied easily, which was good because about four percent of Stern had worried the previous night was a long and overly complex dream.

[12] A very dreary backdrop to what should have been a very good day, which was even drearier

[13] Aubrey sitting across the table from Duck and attempting to quietly extol Dani’s virtues without seeming too hopelessly infatuated, as an example. Or as another, the fact that Ned kept looking at a picture he’d pulled out of his jacket pocket, face so cartoonishly suspicious Stern was half tempted to arrest him on principal.

[14] It had been absolutely pointless, except in the feeling of fulfillment he got when writing the ending.

[15] And someone who was most likely a friend and/or friend adjacent with the rest of them.

[16] Which unfortunately meant he lost the excuse of “only doing his job,” which would not have totally assuaged his guilt about eavesdropping but might have at least helped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, when I first came up with this fic: I'm gonna put an abomination at the end!  
> Me, also: completely forgets that abominations are supposed to show up around the full moon.


	11. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern goes on a hunt. Barclay makes a gamble. There is something in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of the fic proper! I'll be publishing an epilogue/series of codas, probably soonish. I'm going to be juggling that with school and my entry for the Amnesty Minibang, though, so soonish is............relative? Anyway, thanks for reading through all this! This was supposed to be a short fic, but things got..........out of hand.

Stern leaned against the door of Barclay’s room, listening to four sets of footsteps grow quieter as Barclay and company exited the kitchen. Once he was alone he waited a few more minutes, just in case they had only moved their conversation as far as the lobby. Stern was for the most part a decent liar, but he wasn’t sure he could feign ignorance in this situation.

Stern looked down at the notebook in his hands and contemplated taking the time to write down everything he’d heard. There might be some connection he’d missed, some piece of the puzzle that would explain everything without validating his suspicions.[1] Or, failing that, he might find out a solution that _did,_ as unpleasant as that could possibly be. If nothing else, it would help him report the details to his superiors in the event something _was_ going on. One hand twitched toward the pocket where he’d tucked his pen, but Stern clenched it into a fist instead.

There was no point in writing what he had heard down. It hadn’t helped him find the cause of his unease earlier, or in figuring out why everyone at the lodge was avoiding him, or at all since he’d gotten to Kepler. He’d spent months writing down clues, crossing out and correcting details over and over again until his department issued pens all ran out of ink, and where had it gotten him?[2] Nowhere. It had gotten him nowhere, and it would likely do just as little good in explaining the situation to Agent Richmond.

Stern sighed and went over to Barclay’s dresser, pulling open the drawer where he’d put his spare changes of clothes. He set the notebook underneath them and closed it again, with perhaps a little more force than necessary or appropriate. He sighed again. Well, if he was going to indulge in any embarrassing displays of emotion, he might as well get it over with before he left.

Stern stepped out of the room silently, making his way across the kitchen and peering out into the lobby as casually as he could manage. Stern wasn’t sure how well he succeeded, but fortunately it didn’t matter. Barclay wasn’t in the lobby, nor were Ned, Aubrey, or Duck. In fact, the lobby was very fortunately empty.

Then the heavy front door swung open and a woman in a ranger uniform stepped through it.

“Hey uh, anyone there?” She asked. Stern took a deep breath, slid on his customary smile, and strode toward her.

“Just me, I’m afraid,” he replied, holding out a hand. “Agent Stern.”

“Juno Devine.” She met his eyes, clearly taking measure of him. He did so right back, but got nothing out of it except for the impression she needed a nap. After a moment, she gripped his hand firmly, but not too firmly. As she did, he noticed a manila envelope in her other hand.[3] “Say, you don’t happen to know where Duck Newton is, do you? ‘Bout yeah tall, got a hat like mine?”

“Ah, you just missed him. He’s in a meeting…well, somewhere in the building.” Stern was fairly certain he’d heard Barclay mention going ‘downstairs.’ There was only one place that could mean, and he very much doubted he was supposed to tell Ranger Devine about it, given that _he_ wasn’t supposed to _know_ about it.[4] “He’ll probably be a while. Do you want me to give him a message?”

“Actually, yeah.” She held up the envelope, revealing the words WEIRD SHIT FOR DUCK written in a steady hand across the front of it. “Can you tell Duck I found more pictures of those weird tracks? He’ll know the ones I mean.”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” She paused, and Stern could see her trying to make a decision. “Hey, you’re that FBI agent that’s been in town, right?”

“That’s me.”

She squinted at him, like she were trying to make out letters in a book without her reading glasses on. “I’ve been wondering something, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“I can’t guarantee I can answer, but alright.”

“Why are you in Kepler?”

“What do you mean?” He asked, failing ever so slightly to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“No disrespect, sir.” She wasn’t squinting anymore, but she was still looking at him too closely for comfort. Like she’d figured him out completely, even though she’d only just met him. “It’s just that, well. An FBI agent comes into a small town and starts looking for Bigfoot, people talk. It seems a little unbelievable. You know, half the town doesn’t think you’re a real FBI man.”

“Is that so?”

“Not anyone that’s talked to you, though. I mean look at you. You just have that…” She gestured at him. “FBI agent look.”

“I try.” He wasn’t sure if that was meant to be a compliment, and she didn’t elaborate.

“Anyway, I was just wondering…they say you’re here to hunt monsters but, well. I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong place.” She shifted on her feet as if searching for some way to shape her thoughts. “Kepler’s not perfect, you know. We’ve got plenty of problems, but. I mean, it’s been six months and you’re still here, so you can’t have found the monster, right?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“That’s ‘cuz…listen, Ned’s Bigfoot video was pretty good, but I can…I can tell you there’s not monsters in Kepler. It ain’t perfect. God knows it ain’t. But all our problems are ‘cuz of people.” She shrugged. “I ain’t trying to tell you how to do your job or anythin’, but I figured you might not wanna waste your time.”

 “Thank you for your opinion, Ranger Devine.”

“It’s all I can give, Agent Stern.”

He considered her carefully, gauging her sincerity. She seemed to be completely honest, but that wasn’t what struck him most.

“Say, would you be alright if I asked you a question as well?”

“Seems only fair.”

“How have you been sleeping?”

She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Uh, pretty bad actually. How could you tell?”

“Seems to be catching,” he said, only half to her. She frowned, and the shifting of her face only made the shadows under her eyes even clearer. “I’ll give these to Duck. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“You too,” she said. She gave him another look, like she wasn’t sure how she felt about him. Then she nodded and left him in the empty lobby with his thoughts and the envelope.

Logically, Stern knew there was a very low chance that whatever was on those photos had any involvement with the issue at hand. Kepler bordered by almost one and a half thousand miles of forest, and he had fruitlessly searched enough of them to know how many animals wandered around leaving tracks everywhere. But he had decided to treat the nightmares like a case, and he couldn’t afford to ignore any evidence on the case, so he barely paused to consider the ethical ramifications of looking at a friendly acquaintance’s mail before opening it.

Inside was a stack of photos as Ranger Devine had indicated, underneath a page from a ruled notebook. Said page read simply, “Looks like whatever it is got back to the forest, got pics this time – Juno,” followed by what appeared to be coordinates. Stern made a note of the number on his phone, then examined the photos. They were printed on standard printer paper, the color quality mediocre and the image slightly grainy, but Stern saw immediately why Duck and Ranger Devine had found them so interesting.

Had Stern only glanced at them for a moment, he might have thought they were a raccoon’s back paws. But given the scale Ranger Devine had set beside them, it was clear they were much too large and much too thin, and the way they pressed deep into the earth indicated whatever creature left them was immensely heavy. There were also no corresponding front paws, just more long, jaggedly-clawed feet.

And there were plenty of jaggedly-clawed feet. Half the pictures pieced together a forest clearing, the tracks cutting across them in a dark, angry line. Given the size of the prints, Stern would have expected them to be far apart, the work of some massive creature. In some places they were, but in others they were as crowded together as he would expect a normal raccoon’s to be, and no matter how closely he examined them he couldn’t piece together how large the animal was nor how many feet it had.

Stern took photos of each image on his phone, then carefully restacked the pieces of paper and slid them back into the envelope.[5] It was so tempting to just leave, taking the pictures with him, but he had a sense of decorum to maintain. He had told Ranger Devine he would give the pictures to Duck, and whatever small peace of mind he’d gain from keeping hold of them wouldn’t be worth the trust he stood to lose. So instead he returned to the kitchen and placed the envelope beside the mixing bowl.[6] When he reached the point that lingering longer would deter him from going at all, he turned and left the lodge.

As he opened the front door, Stern cast a glance over at the door to the so-called boiler room. It was closed, and Barclay’s car was parked beside his, which meant that whatever conversation they were all having was probably still going. Stern spared a thought to what, exactly, they could have been talking about. They had mentioned dreams earlier in their conversation, but then things had gotten too quiet for him to parse. He hoped that whatever they were doing took up enough time that Duck didn’t look into the photos. The last thing he needed was for whatever made these tracks to stumble across Duck.

Were it not for the personal stake he had in this investigation, Stern would be excited about this turn of events. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Barclay he was terrible at talking to people. It was part of why he’d spent so much of his time researching nothing in particular and running around in the woods: he was _good_ at research and finding things in the woods.[7] Normally, he’d take this opportunity to go somewhere with better internet and start googling dream imagery, or look through his other case journals in search of something relevant. Unfortunately, due to the personal stake he had in this investigation, Stern was not going to do that.

Instead, he got into his car and opened the glove compartment, unfolding his map of Kepler. At least one good thing had come out of the sheer amount of time he’d been stalled on the Bigfoot case, and that was the fact he’d marked down the coordinates of every location where he’d found potential clues. He scanned the map with his finger until he found one nearby the coordinates in the envelope, and once he’d managed to roughly estimate where he was supposed to be going he set out.

Stern had hoped the drive would settle his nerves, but it didn’t.[8] It did, however, give him time to decide what tools he’d be bringing with him into the woods.

Today was the first time on this investigation that Stern had felt need to access the tools of his trade. No one knew whether Bigfoot could be killed using ordinary weapons[9], but if Stern hadn’t been suffering from a concussion-based hallucination he was fairly sure he’d seen it be injured by one. As a result, Stern hadn’t felt it necessary to carry anything aside from normal lead bullets and a can of mace during his trips to the woods.

In this case, he wasn’t sure that would be sufficient. So as he pulled onto the side of the road beside the trail nearest his intended location, instead of heading into the woods he circled around to his car and popped the trunk. His shoes crunched on the half-frozen ground as he leaned forward, grabbing the handle of the large plastic toolbox he kept pushed against the back toward him. He unlocked his Null Kit[10], removing the top compartment[11] gathering up the items which were most likely to have some use.

Fortunately, those were the tools he kept at the top, because those were the ones which almost always had some use. He clipped the iron knife to his belt, considered the salt and rice[12] before deciding there’d be no harm in tucking them in his pocket, and replaced the magazine of lead bullets in his gun with the silver ones.[13]

Stern closed his eyes and breathed in the crisp winter air. It burned as it filled his lungs, and somehow that left him calmer than he’d been all morning. As he exhaled he took his first step toward the woods, ignoring the feeling that something was probably going to go wrong.

* * *

 

“How close are we?” Aubrey asked, half-jogging forward to catch up to Duck and peer at the map in his hands.

“’Bout the same distance we were last time you asked, Aubrey.” Duck seemed like he was trying to sound irritated, but it came out more nervous. Barclay supposed that was fair. He’d spent a lot of time wondering, at times fantasizing, about what would happen if he weren’t Bigfoot anymore. The thing that always got him to decide that wouldn’t be worth life being generally easier was the thought of how abomination fights might go.

“Sorry.” She sounded almost as nervous as Duck did. “It’s just…why didn’t we park closer? I know it’s daytime and all but it’s, you know, freezing.” She shivered. “Also, you know, the whole ‘monster lurking in the woods’ thing is uh. Not great.”

“Aubrey, you know why.” Barclay tried to give her a disappointed look, but since she was in front of him it didn’t work. The closest parking to the tracks was the side of the highway, which admittedly wasn’t busy since it was the highway outside of _Kepler_ but still wasn’t a place Barclay wanted an abomination chasing them to. Instead, they’d used Duck’s forest service vehicle privileges to park at a closed camp site which both had a road they could escape down and was far enough in the middle of nowhere they could probably lose the monster before getting back to civilization. Hightailing it through the woods with an abomination on their heels would suck, but it would suck less than being seen.

“I mean I _do,_ but it still sucks.”

Barclay watched the white fog of his breath billow out in front of him, and realized what she was trying to do. Up until she’d started pestering Duck they’d been quiet, and it was only now that her bright voice was breaking the silence that he realize how much it had been weighing on him.

 “Maybe we’ll discover that this whole thing was a misunderstanding, and we’ll find some perfectly natural explanation. Then, we can call this a nice family hike, and have some fun on the way back!” Ned stumbled on a root and he came to a stop, leaning against the rocky outcropping to the left side of the trail and rubbing his ankle. “Preferably on a more well-maintained trail.”

“Okay so first thing, there’s no ‘more well-maintained trails’ than this one, it’s off season and we don’t got the budget to maintain stuff this deep. Second thing, this ain’t a normal animal,” Duck said, probably grimacing as he did. “C’mon, I don’t wanna be out here all day. I’m getting’ some real bad vibes here.”

“Perhaps it’s a _pack_ of normal animals,” Ned proposed as he continued walking, voice weaker than usual. He was close enough for Barclay to actually see his face, see the tenseness in his mouth. The way he worked his jaw as he tried to come up with a lie good enough to convince himself. “That would explain the…number of legs issue.”

“I haven’t seen anything with _any_ number of legs that’s got feet like that, and I’ve been workin’ around here for years.”

“I just hope that if it _is_ something, it’s the thing that’s been bugging all of you.” Barclay couldn’t see Aubrey’s hands from where he was walking, but he could tell she was passing a flame between them.

“I don’t,” Duck replied, voice flat. “Don’t wanna see that thing again.”

“I very much agree! But also if it dies, I might be able to sleep again. I would _love_ to be able to sleep again.”

“Yeah, what Ned said! And also, I mean, there’s no _way_ this is all just a coincidence, yeah?”

Duck sighed.

“No, I’d just like to not be almost dyin’ this early in the month. I’d take not sleeping if it also meant we could, I dunno, have any idea what we were dealin’ with before we have to deal with it.” Duck had been doing a good job of pretending he wasn’t tired, up until he’d mentioned his nightmares. Or maybe it was just that Duck was always a little tired, and Barclay just hadn’t picked up on the difference.

“Normally I’d say we’re just out here to look for clues so we can _do_ that, but I feel like that’d jinx-“ Barclay was interrupted by a low growling sound from off the path where they were walking. Well, fuck him.

Barclay felt himself freeze for a fraction of an instant, and he could see Duck and Ned doing the same. The thing had never made noise in his dreams, and yet the moment he heard it he felt the last piece of some terrible puzzle slotting into place.

Aubrey turned to look after the noise, hands alight, and Barclay saw her eyes go wide beneath her sunglasses.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, so quiet Barclay barely heard her even from a short distance. “You all weren’t kidding when you said this thing was fucked up.”

Barclay followed her gaze, and yes. There it was, standing in the center of the trail a hundred feet behind them. Maybe less. It grinned with its hundred mouths, eyes red and burning. They shouldn’t have seemed so bright in the day.

Then Barclay realized the sun had disappeared. Sometime between when Aubrey spoke and when he turned around, shadows had covered the world in grey twilight. Barclay looked up and found that just before the tree tops everything disappeared into total darkness, like the sky was the surface of some filthy, black lake. Barclay blinked, and the trees and rock face on either side of the trail melted into a similar nothingness. Aubrey let out a noise of surprise and maybe fear, and Barclay somehow knew her fire had gone out. All that was visible was the path stretching out in front of and behind them, of each other and of a thing with eyes and teeth.

It moved toward them, leisurely, its wolfish body balanced somehow on four long, thin legs. As it walked, the shadows spread like a curtain behind it, and Barclay got the impression this was when they were supposed to start running. His feet wouldn’t move.

The thing came to a stop in front of him, its one gaping mouth open wide and its red tongue lolling out as the eyes which covered its dark body watched him. Its eight legs surrounded it like some sort of terrible spider and – wait, that wasn’t right. Hadn’t it had four legs a moment ago?

It leaned in close, its two glowing eyes staring right into his.

This thing was a dream, he realized. A dream he was having while awake. Or was he awake? He ignored its pungent breath on his face – as well as he could, since it smelled like damp, rotten food – and tried to find Ned with his peripheral vision. But Ned had been swallowed by the blackness, and Barclay was alone. Barclay made the mistake of breathing, and he almost wretched. The thing growled again, but this was a hitching growl, and Barclay thought it might have also been a laugh.

Then it vanished, and he was standing on the trail in the mid-afternoon light. Only it wasn’t the midafternoon he had just left; the sun was too low in the sky for the time he knew it was, and it glinted off pristine snow. Barclay’s skin prickled into painful goosebumps, not just from the cold but from a sick sense of déjà vu.

 _This isn’t that spot,_ he thought, _there was no trail, and I can’t hear a creek._ Still, he couldn’t stop himself from turning slowly, eyes traveling up that rocky outcropping _it can’t be the same, it’s probably not the same, I could have sworn that one was taller_ until they reached the man standing at the top, the sun behind him rendering him a silhouette. There was something in his hand. He was lifting it, and even if this wasn’t the place Barclay had dreamt about, and he hadn’t been the one standing at the bottom of the cliff in that dream, he found himself squeezing his eyes shut and-

He opened them to a quiet, dark house. ~~He was standing in the hallway of the bottom floor~~ ~~He was standing on the hallway of the top floor~~ He was standing in both at once, and despite being inside he still felt the chill of the forest through his jacket. ~~He ran down the first floor hallway toward the door~~ He ran down the second floor hallway toward the stairs, but as he reached the ~~door~~ stairs he ~~heard a noise of pain and surprise behind him~~ felt himself trip, and as he ~~turned~~ fell he caught sight of himself ~~tumbling down the stairs~~ standing in front of a set of wide open doors. The world caught fire around him.

He hit the ground and the pain jolted him into a new waking. Except it wasn’t waking up, he’d never fallen asleep. He was standing in a green clearing, empty except for a large stone with a sword sticking out of it. He took a step forward-

Nope. Fuck that. Barclay turned and ran, the world dissolving into black around him. He could feel the dreams he’d already had weighing down on him, an exhaustion that made his eyes hurt and his skin feel even colder. Fuck no, he wasn’t finishing another one.

He ran into a desk as it appeared out of nowhere, gasping as it collided with his stomach and knocked the air out of him. He put out his hands out to brace himself and they slid across the table, sending the sharp pain of a papercut jolting up his hand as what he knew to be case reports went flying. He hissed, bringing his hand up to examine the injury. At first it was bloodless, a thin line cutting across his palm. Then the expected beads of red began weeping out, and Barclay gritted his teeth as he pressed his other hand against the injury. But the blood kept coming, seeping past his hand and dripping down onto the table. Barclay followed it down with his eyes, where it pooled onto the pile of papers. Onto a drawing of his own face.

The image shattered like a broken mirror, and the whole world with it.

He back on the trail, alone save for the thing and its glinting teeth. It sat back on it haunches, watching him with three eyes. Barclay prepared himself to fight it off, but its stare was broken when Aubrey called out in the distance.

“Guys? Where are you?” The thing lunged past him in the direction of her voice, its stride smooth as it ran on two legs then four then six then eight.

Barclay followed, ignoring the fact that a good part of him wanted to lay down on the ground and sleep. That feeling went away, though, as cold and effort burned his lungs and pine branches wacked against his face. It was one of those chases that seemed to last forever, until the trees thinning out again actually caught him by surprise.

“Guys?” It was Aubrey’s voice again, and Barclay swallowed around the rawness of his throat as he realized it was coming out of empty air. He stumbled to a stop, leaning against a pine tree and then wincing when he realized the papercut on his palm hadn’t disappeared when the dream did. There was that growling laugh again, the sound in his ear and far away all at once. He squinted, and caught sight of the thing watching him from the other side of the clearing with a dozen jagged smiles.

“Barclay? What are you doing out here?”

 _This_ voice didn’t come from empty air. It came from Stanley, who was standing between him and the abomination and looking almost as concerned as Barclay felt.

“Hey, uh, Stanley.” Barclay waved awkwardly, staring over Stanley’s shoulder. The thing met his eyes. “I uh. Was just taking a walk.”

Stanley took a step forward. So did the thing.

“It’s not safe this far out, Barclay.” There was actual panic in Stanley’s voice. “You should…actually no, you shouldn’t go back. Can you come over here?”

“Yeah, uh. What _exactly_ isn’t safe?” Barclay started moving. So did the thing.

“I don’t…I don’t know yet. Hopefully nothing, but I’d still feel more comfortable if you were over here and not, well, not in the woods.”

Barclay moved faster. So did the thing.

“Alright, yeah. That’s fair. You think this is connected to the whole Bigfoot thing?”

As Barclay got closer, Stanley seemed to relax just a bit. For once, Barclay really wished he wouldn’t.

“No, I don’t think so, I-“

Barclay saw the thing’s muscles tense. Barclay spent a quarter of an instant thinking he should yell at Stanley to move, then the rest of that instant realizing he didn’t have time for that. So instead he tore the bracelet off his wrist and lunged at the same time as the abomination, catching sight of the way Stanley flinched in on himself as Barclay shoved him out of the way and met the thing head on.

Barclay pushed as hard as he could before coming down on top of the thing, trying to put space between the fight and Stanley’s _very_ killable human body. He eventually got it onto the ground, dropping his bracelet so he could grab at its spindly neck. The skin was damp and hot, twitching as if there were small things crawling beneath it, and Barclay grimaced as he squeezed tighter. The thing’s eyes rolled, and Barclay almost, kind of, dared to hope he might have control of the situation.

Then he blinked, and the thing’s body condensed into something powerful. Despite the fact that he didn’t feel his hands being moved by the broadening of its neck, he had lost hold of it. The thing writhed, snakelike as it bucked Barclay off it, knocking him onto his back. It bore down on him, and he struggled to breathe past the heavy weight of its now feline body on his chest. It leaned in closer, and its breath smelled the exact same as it had in his dream. He shut his eyes and waited for the feeling of teeth sinking into his neck.

There was the pop of a gunshot. The thing let out a crackling yowl and jerked back as one, two, three more left Barclay’s ears ringing. He managed to push it off him and lay gasping, distantly aware that the abomination was still thrashing and keening beside him.

Then he sat up and the world narrowed down to Stanley, who stood a few feet away with his gun pointed at Barclay’s head.

Stanley had his mask on again, though there was no trace of his usual smile on it. Just that blankness Barclay expected and feared, when Agent Stern had first walked into the lodge all those months ago. Stanley didn’t pull the trigger, just stared down at Barclay with flat eyes. He took a step closer.

Barclay met Stanley’s gaze as he felt blindly for his bracelet. God, why had he picked something so fucking easy to lose? Stanley’s grip on the gun tightened, but he still didn’t shoot. Just took another step. Just like the abomination had just a few seconds ago, and Barclay hated that he was comparing Stanley to that _thing,_ but he knew this clusterfuck had just as much of a chance to turn deadly as the last one had. Or at least, deadly for _him._  

God, what if the gamble he was about to take didn’t work? If Barclay waited until Stanley got close enough, he could almost definitely take Stanley down before he got a shot off. Then Barclay remembered the pop of a human arm being jerked out of its socket, the wet crunch of a skull breaking in, and counted up just how much it would cost the both of them to force Stanley silent. So Barclay kept looking, and Stanley kept walking. The abomination’s screams petered off into wheezing, then silence.

Barclay got the bracelet onto his wrist just as the cold barrel of Stanley’s gun pressed against his forehead.

As Stanley met the eyes of Barclay’s human disguise he shuddered, composure crumbling. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed heavily, hands shaking as he holstered his gun. He shifted, and for a second Barclay thought he was going to run. Maybe Stanley thought he was going to run too, because he seemed almost surprised when he held a hand out to Barclay instead. Barclay took it, and Stanley pulled him to his feet.

Stanley’s hand lingered in Barclay’s. His eyes darted down to Barclay’s wrist, and there was something thoughtful in the twist of his mouth as his fingers brushed against the bracelet. Something scared, too. But he gave Barclay’s hand a squeeze before pulling back away, and even if the smile he gave as he looked back up into Barclay’s eyes was tight and still afraid it was also mostly real.

It was real enough that, as Aubrey, Duck, and Ned stumbled into the clearing and Stanley moved to stand beside him, Barclay let himself hope things might just turn out okay.

 

[1] Stern had always found little respect for his colleagues when they engaged in this sort of denial. God, what was wrong with him? He was supposed to be the person that looked over every possible explanation, including and especially the worst. But in this case, he wanted nothing more than to assume everyone at the lodge having the same terrible nightmares was just a string of bad luck they’d get over, and not a potentially deadly supernatural threat.

[2] Aside from into a stable relationship, of course.

[3] Which was very unfortunate, because Stern had a strong dislike for not knowing what was inside manila envelopes, and he didn’t have time for distractions at this present moment.

[4] Stern had forgotten how suspicious that door was. How had he forgotten how suspicious that door was?

[5] Thankfully, it was held shut with a metal clasp and not a permanent seal. Stern wouldn’t have regretted looking, especially not given what he had found, but finding a new envelope to store the images in would have taken up time he didn’t particularly feel like taking.

[6] This required Stern to clear away a splotch of flour that Barclay had not yet cleaned from breakfast. He looked at his hand, dusted with white, and let the memory of Christmas Eve center him for a moment.

[7] Except apparently Bigfoot, or whatever the Hell this thing was. He’d likely have been getting further by interviewing suspects, but that hadn’t been going well.

[8] Usually on investigations, driving to a possible event site put Stern, as people said, “in the zone.” Chasing after clues was _fun,_ and it was hard to stay concerned about his problems when he was having fun. _This_ situation, obviously, was not fun.

[9] If they knew then Bigfoot would be dead, and Stern wouldn’t be in this situation.

[10] This was the term UP agents used to refer to the tools which worked against enough creatures to be considered “general use,” and could thus make an ill-advised trip into the woods which could potentially end in finding a monster one knew nothing about…slightly less potentially fatal. Slightly.

[11] Which only contained ordinary tools, which were both practical and good for concealing the items which would be difficult to explain.

[12] The rice was rarely ever useful, but allegedly throwing it to the ground would force some creatures to count it. This had never worked for Stern before.

[13] Stern wasn’t entirely certain how they were jury-rigged to fire as well as normal ones, because the requisitions officer refused to tell him. The requisitions officer also refused to give him more unless he could explain why he used up the ones he already had, so Stern didn’t like to waste them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The codas that come after this are uh. Going to be mostly fluff/resolution. If you want to maintain the (sort of) open-endedness or the whole dramatic tension stuff, you can stop reading here. But uh. 1. I am a soft soul deep down inside and I like happy endings. And 2. I'm going to be setting most all of my Amnesty fics (barring ones specific to episodes that come later or if stuff I come up with becomes canon-divergent enough that I feel the need to also write things with canonical characterization, though I'll be trying to integrate canon as much as. possible) into the same timeline. Mostly because I'm too lazy to go through recharacterizing everyone during each longfic I do, but also because like. I want to keep my ships right where they are.


	12. Coda: Like a House on Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aubrey reveals something. Duck realizes something. Sometimes you've just got to swap to a new POV character, I guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of three post-conclusion scenes. The other two are actually about Stern and Barclay, but I realized uh. The trio experienced the abomination too?

Duck assumed that Stanley putting four bullets directly into the abomination’s eyes would’ve let him sleep again. That would’ve been convenient, though, and Duck Newton’s life hadn’t been convenient since he was seventeen and a glowing lady appeared at the foot of the bed. Hell, it hadn’t even been all that convenient _before_ that, just _comparatively_ convenient.

So when Duck woke up the day after the abomination died and realized he’d just been having a nightmare, his first thought was _aw, damn, I hope this thing’s really dead,_ and his second was _well, this is my life. Might as well let it happen._

It wasn’t his nightmare. Well, it wasn’t the nightmare he figured was his, if he’d been assuming right that them all having the same set of bad dreams meant they were picking up each other’s. Which meant Aubrey and Ned had been having the same dreams as him, a fact that only put Duck in an even worse mood than the nightmare itself had. Hell, Stanley probably’d gotten the same ones too, but judging by the fact he didn’t look nearly as close to straight up fainting he probably hadn’t been sent to the abomination’s freaky nightmare factory. Which meant he might not one hundred percent remember them, the lucky bastard. 

At the very least, Duck could say he hadn’t put the worst shitty dream in the melting pot of shitty dreams. Duck’s nightmare had been real predictable: a sword in a stone that he couldn’t pull out. He’d spend the whole dream thinking _there’s no way I can get this thing out, I should just give up,_ and then keep trying until his arms started hurting. Then, when his arms finally gave up and wouldn’t let him keep hold of the handle anymore, the monster would come and eat him. It wasn’t even scary, just depressing. When he’d first started having it, he’d wake up and lay there in the dark and think _I kinda wish that had been real._ Which was, when he thought about it, horrifying, but not in a nightmare way. He’d hated it, but compared to all the other ones he’d gone through it was pretty great, and he wished he could get back to having it instead of looping through the four others.

Barclay’s, assuming Barclay was responsible for the one with all the Bigfoot case files, was pretty tame. Sure, Stanley figuring out everything would probably suck, but there was also a chance it _wouldn’t_ suck, and the fact that the dream was more the potential of suffering than suffering itself made it easier to deal with. The one about shooting a guy in the head was worse, but once he placed it as Stanley’s it’d actually made him feel better about Barclay’s. Like maybe both of their situations might end a little less bad than they’d been dreaming about. Or maybe they just didn’t suck so bad because he could figure out who they belonged to, what they meant.

It was the other two nightmares that Duck ended up saddled with, after the abomination died. He’d woken up half an hour before his alarm and stared at the ceiling trying to figure out what they meant, then kept chewing on the problem his whole drive to the lodge. He still hadn’t managed by the time he let himself into the cellar, the first of The Pine Guard to arrive to their post-abomination debrief, and found himself with Thacker and his own suspicions as his sole company.

Only for a second, though, because the door swung open and Ned came down the stairs looking, well, bad. Not tired, just run down in a way that gave Duck the feeling he had all the pieces of his answer, but no idea how he was supposed to put them together. He sat down next to Duck, and for a second they both stared at Thacker and Thacker stared back and it was weird as Hell.

Then Aubrey arrived, and it got even weirder. She seemed fine, except for the fact that the smile she flashed them as she bounced down the stairs looked just a little too wide. She sat across from Ned, and Duck just barely caught the way Ned looked like he was drowning for a second. Another answer, one he could almost place but really didn’t want to. Really, really didn’t.

“So, how’d everyone sleep?” Aubrey asked cheerily. It was small talk and a check-in all at once. Duck shrugged.

“Had one of, uh, somebody’s nightmares.” As soon as he said it, the others looked worried. Duck shook his head, holding out his hands reassuringly. “Naw, not like. Magic nightmares or anything. I think it was the normal version of ‘em. No dying at the end. Just a lotta fire, and that’s about it.”

Aubrey frowned. Ned frowned. Duck tried his best not to also frown, because he could recognize he’d been the downer of the group for the past month and that had kinda gotten old.

“Fire?” Aubrey asked. She went to pass her flame between her fingers, an instinctual motion, then flinched and brought her hands back to rest in her lap as soon as the spark appeared. Ned flinched, too.

“Yeah, like. A house on fire. Hey, either of you guys think it’s yours?”

“Clearly not mine! I’ve never been in a fire in my life!” Ned said it in the same voice he said almost everything, which meant it sounded like a lie but might have been completely true. Duck bit his cheek to keep quiet, and thought he might’ve tasted blood from it.

“It’s probably mine, sorry.” Aubrey’s voice was soft in a way Duck could barely stand. “I uh. My mom died in a fire. I saw…when that thing got us I saw the night it happened, and I guess I hadn’t really put it together, but you must have too.”

Duck had never seen her so miserable, not even when she’d been sitting outside Ned’s hospital room trying not to let anyone know she blamed herself. She was hunched in on herself in the same way, but this hurt seemed deeper somehow. Older. Her jaw was tight, her eyes shiny. They sat in complete silence for a second, the air of the cellar hot and heavy in a way it usually wasn’t. Then it was broken by the screech of Aubrey pushing her chair back.

“Sorry, I just.” Her voice cracked. “I’ll be right back.”

She half-sprinted to the panic room and the door slammed shut. Thacker watched her go, and Duck watched Thacker. Staring after Aubrey would’ve felt like he was intruding on something. He took a deep breath and turned to look at Ned.

Ned looked like he wished the sign falling _had_ killed him, all those months ago.

Usually when Ned was upset, Duck had to hunt for it. He got the feeling Ned had a lot of practice keeping his hurt quiet, and usually Duck put the reasons a guy would have to be so good at hiding things out of his mind. Today, though, it looked like Ned had given up. Duck could see everything, the one time he had no desire to.

Duck worked his jaw and tried to keep from screaming. He had to keep it down, though. At least until he decided whether he wanted to scream at life in general, or just at Ned Fucking Chicane.

“I know this looks bad,” Ned said, and it was only the fact that he sounded as miserable as he looked that stopped Duck from losing his temper. Duck took a deep breath, and when he spoke his voice was calmer than he’d expected.

“Yeah, it really does.”

Aubrey hadn’t been having nightmares before they went on the hunt. Duck had, though. He’d had _that_ nightmare, or at least half of it. The half that made him feel like he’d been intruding somewhere, like all he wanted to do was stand there and let the flames eat him up. Ned had that nightmare too. Maybe he’d been having it for a long time.

“I’m going to tell her,” Ned said. He didn’t bother trying to deny it, which was a real shame. Duck had been hoping Ned would cook up some excuse that would convince him his suspicions were wrong. Or that sounded godawful enough Duck would be able to march over to the panic room and snitch on him without feeling at all remorseful.

“When?”

“I-“

Duck narrowed his eyes. Being the hard ass didn’t exactly come easy to him, on account of he’d spent half of his life and more trying to come off as inconspicuous as possible, but he would try his best in this situation.

“Ned. I like you. Sometimes despite the sorta shit you get up to, but usually I just like you. Now, unless that whole dream was a lot more metaphorical than your face is telling me it is, whatever you did is something I don’t really wanna know the details of, because it might make liking you...” Duck grimaced. “Don’t try and explain to me, explain it to her, or I’ll tell her you have something to say and then make you. Got it?”

Ned swallowed, then nodded. God, Duck had hoped the abomination dying would mean he’d wouldn’t have to be so tired, but now he was just a whole new kind of exhausted, the kind no amount of sleeping would get rid of.

“Do you at least feel sorry?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.

Ned sighed and put his head in his hands. Well, at least there was that.


	13. Coda: Heart to Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern asks some questions. Barclay answers. The one where they talk through their issues because the main part of the story is over so I no longer have a need to maintain dramatic tension via misunderstanding anymore.

Stern generally believed that cowardice was not one of his major flaws.[1] This was apparently a delusion, however, because four days had passed since he killed the nightmare monster and he had still not managed to speak to Barclay. Which unfortunately meant that, when Stern found himself lying awake in the middle of the night, he was alone in his bed at the end of the hall.

From an emotional standpoint, Stern was fairly certain his reaction was justified. It had been fifteen years since Bigfoot…Barclay, since Barclay threw him out a window, and that was enough time for Stern to get over most things. Not being thrown out a window.[2] It didn’t help that he had just admitted it, the first time he’d told anyone aside from his coworkers immediately after the fact and the therapists he was required to confide in.[3]

Stern cut off his thoughts and held his breath, staring at the dim light shining from the crack beneath his door and trying not to hyperventilate.

 _I’m not having a panic attack. I’m just…angry. This is anger._ Stern wanted to be angry. He had a right to be angry, _should_ be angry. Barclay had _lied. **[4]**_

Stern let out the air in his lungs. It shuddered out of him, and that shook him out of his train of thought. No, being angry wasn’t working. It hadn’t worked for the past four days, so he wasn’t sure why he tried. Every time, he’d manage to follow that thread down, down, until his heart was almost racing with something other than fear, and then he’d stall out as soon as he realized how _uncharitable_ he was being. Even if some of it had been a lie, Stern was fairly certain he hadn’t imagined Barclay’s entire personality.

And technically, Barclay hadn’t lied.[5] Stern sat up. There was no use pretending he’d be able to sleep, not when his brain was torn between coming up with reasons why he should have shot Barclay in the head and reasons why this was clearly his own fault for being an idiot.

He’d fallen out of practice when it came to skipping the noisy steps, but apparently Jake had been sleeping deeply enough not to hear it.[6] The lobby was almost as still as it had been the night the thing had first appeared to him. Stern wondered for just a moment if this whole thing couldn’t have been part of that first nightmare, stretching on and disguising itself as a good dream. He was being ridiculous.

On his way past the bar, his fingers skimmed over the wood where those glasses had rested in memoriam. He almost asked himself a question, but decided he’d save it for Barclay. Instead, he tried the door to the kitchen and found it unlocked.[7]

It was only as he shut the kitchen door behind him that Stern realized Barclay was likely asleep. He almost opened the door, almost told himself that he could probably force himself to have this conversation at a more reasonable hour, but he was too tired to tell himself that lie. So instead he stood in the near pitch blackness of the kitchen, gathering his resolve, and then made his way across the kitchen.

Or rather, tried to make his way across the kitchen. Instead, he took one step and slid on a patch of something wet, tumbling to the ground. He held as still as possible, hoping that the impact was quieter than it sounded in his own ears.

“Who’s- oh, shit Stanley, are you alright?”[8]

Apparently it was exactly as loud as it had sounded in his own ears.

Stern stood gingerly, trying to smile reassuringly despite the fact that it was probably too dark for Barclay to really see.[9]

“I’m fine, I…well, I should’ve checked the floor before I came in.”

There was a light on in Barclay’s room, rendering him in silhouette, and Stern could see the awkward tension in his body. He could almost picture the conflicted expression on Barclay’s face, torn between going to try and help and respecting Stern’s space.[10]

“God, I’m so sorry, I figured that spot’d be dry by morning and I wasn’t expecting any-“

“It’s fine, Barclay.”

Stern restrained a wince as he registered how tired his voice sounded. He stepped around the puddle and into the small pool of light emanating from Barclay’s room.[11] Barclay looked almost as hesitant as Stern was sure he did.

“So…Stanley,” Barclay paused around the word. Stern was almost hurt for a moment, but then he read the twist in Barclay’s mouth and realized he wasn’t sure whether he had a right to the name anymore. After saying it Barclay trailed off, like he hadn’t actually considered he’d be talking to Stern again. Stern took a deep breath and dove in, before he could convince himself to run.

“Why did you push me out the window?” He asked. Stern didn’t realize how sharp it was until Barclay flinched back, too distracted by the way the question made him remember. It wasn’t as cathartic to talk about as it had been the last time.

“Do you want to come in?”

Stern thought his voice might have sounded hopeful. That was the reason Stern didn’t hesitate. Barclay stepped to the side so Stern could move past, and Stern gave in to what half of him wanted and let his hand brush Barclay’s shoulder as he went. Barclay leaned toward him slightly, tension melting out of him before he seemed to remember himself and straightened again.

Stern pulled the chair out from Barclay’s desk and sat, watching as Barclay came into the room after him. He thought Barclay might sit down on the bed, but instead he hovered nervously, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides.

“I wasn’t trying to kill you,” Barclay said, after enough time had passed Stern thought he might’ve forgotten the question, or that Stern might have only imagined asking it.

“I know,” Stern said.[12]

“That monster, from the clearing…” Barclay swallowed, defeated. “Shit. Okay, I suppose I should…tell you some things. For all this to make sense.”

“I’d appreciate that, yes.” Did that sound sarcastic? Stern hoped it didn’t. He’d been going for unaffected, or at least not desperate. Either way, Barclay seemed like he barely noticed Stern had even replied.

“We call them abominations. They show up every two months on the full moon…though, they’ve been breaking the rules lately. Always around Kepler, but sometimes they manage to slip out and cause trouble.”

“So you were out hunting a monster?” Stern asked.[13]

“No I. That was a coincidence. But I ran into M-“ Barclay cut him off, even though both of them knew who he meant. “Well, I ran into the others. The people who hunted the abominations back then. It was chasing me when I ran into you and…” Barclay trailed off, making an awkward gesture. “I panicked.”[14]

“You panicked.”

“On-the-go problem solving isn’t my, uh, isn’t one of my main skills.”

Stern let himself laugh a little at that, and Barclay’s smile was so relieved Stern almost shot him one back.[15] But for now, he had another question to ask before he could be sure Barclay wasn’t dangerous,[16] and then a second for his peace of mind.

“I mentioned that I was here in connection with a string of disappearances.”

Barclay looked nervous about that, which set Stern right back on edge.

“Yeah, you did.”

“I…” He grimaced. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

“Never on purpose,” Barclay said after a moment of awful stillness, voice strangled. “Never when I had – Never when it seemed like I had a choice. And none of the people you’re looking into.”

Stern nodded, and almost let that pass by. Then, that last sentence caught up to him.

“How do you know that?”

Barclay froze. They locked eyes for a second, before Barclay couldn’t seem to bear it anymore and dropped his gaze. He worked his jaw, shoulders stiff, and Stern thought he might deflect.

Then he sagged down onto the bed, head in his hands.

“I read your notebook,” Barclay admitted into his own lap.

“I’m sorry?” Stern asked, something cold and hollow growing inside his chest.[17]

“I read your notebook. Listen, Stanley, I’m-“

“No,” Stanley said. Normally, he’d worry that his voice was as flat as he thought it sounded. Now he hoped it did. It was better than the alternative. “No, don’t say it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Barclay finished anyway. Barclay looked back up at him, eyes wide, and beseeching, and Stern almost forgave him so quickly that it sent him spiraling back away into something he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

“No, if you were sorry you would have _told_ me.” Stern narrowed his eyes. “When.”

“New Year’s. During your nap.”

Stern clenched his jaw, the cold spreading further as he reframed every moment before and after then.

“I nearly panicked about the possibility of revealing classified information while intoxicated, and fifteen minutes later you used my trust to find that information yourself.”[18]

Barclay shifted.

“Stanley, you have to understand-“

“What do I have to understand, Barclay?” Stern asked.[19] He stood, took a step closer, felt a split second of satisfaction that he knew he shouldn’t when Barclay leaned back ever so slightly. “I have to understand that I _trusted_ you? I have to understand you spent…you spent weeks knowing. You spent weeks knowing, and then you…” His breath hitched as he settled on another realization. “I didn’t tell you that I’d seen you before, did I?” He didn’t give Barclay a chance to answer him. “I didn’t.” Barclay flinched. “I didn’t!” It was a relief, again. He hadn’t talked. He’d just been too _trusting._ “God, do you have any idea the way that made me _feel_?”

“I do,” Barclay answered, voice quiet. He sounded sorry. Stern didn’t want him to sound sorry, or _reasonable,_ or to be sitting there with his shoulders hunched like that. “I do, and I’m sorry.” Stern opened his mouth, but Barclay held up a hand. “Stanley, think about this from _my_ point of view.”

Stern almost said cut him off, but he couldn’t come up with a coherent rebuttal so instead he clenched his teeth against an _incoherent_ one and let Barclay talk.

“I’m Bigfoot, Stanley. And you’re only in Kepler to…” Barclay sighed. “If you’d found out I was Bigfoot before you got to know me, would you have killed me?”

Stern’s brain stalled. The answer must have shown on his face, because Barclay nodded. He didn’t have the decency to look surprised, but he was at least polite enough not to seem disappointed. He just looked tired, and that drained all the anger out of Stern, replaced it with a dread he’d been trying to put off for as long as possible.

“Hey,” he said, mouth suddenly dry. “This might be a strange question, but…how did your friends die?”

Barclay’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Friends? You mean, uh, Aubrey and Duck and all of them? They’re not…”

Stern remembered abruptly that he wasn’t supposed to have been watching that night.

“The night before New Year’s Eve,” he started, and Barclay’s face flickered with some hard and unpleasant emotion before he managed to smooth it out, and Stern was struck by the sinking sensation he might be a hypocrite. “I came downstairs to get some water, and you were with Mama. I should have gone upstairs but I…” Stern wished he’d brought a pen with him. He needed something to do with his hands. “I shouldn’t have watched. I just…” Saying _I couldn’t leave_ seemed insufficient, even if it were true. “I’m sorry.”

Something must have shown on his face, unfortunately, because Barclay softened.[20]

“Stanley,” Barclay paused, sighed. He reached out slowly, like he was worried Stern would pull back. Stern couldn’t move, just like that night. Barclay loosely grasped his wrist and pulled him forward to sit beside him on the bed. “I’m not-” He cut himself off and frowned, and Stern hoped it was because he was searching for the correct word and not because he was displeased, “you didn’t do it on purpose, it’s…It just surprised me, hearing about it. It’s not something that comes up.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Forget I said anything.”

“No, no. I was just surprised. Like I said, it doesn’t…it doesn’t come up.” Barclay didn’t look like he was _just_ surprised, there was definitely some kind of sorrow there too. “Which means - is there any - there has to be a reason you brought it up.”[21]

“I hunt monsters, Barclay.”

Barclay nodded slowly, and Stern knew he hadn’t understood.

“My worst nightmare has always been that I’ll-“ Stern cut himself off, because this question wasn’t about his feelings. It was about the facts, and even if he needed to know the facts to _straighten out_ his feelings, they weren’t the focus of this line of questioning. “I knew it was a possibility that there might be…” He stopped short before saying the word _monster,_ “non-human entities out there with a measure of sentience, but I thought it wasn’t something I’d encountered yet. And you were right, I would have killed you.” Stern felt…something. He didn’t know. “UP…UP is interested in data collection, of course, but. Well. Passive observation isn’t something I personally…do. When I investigate a monster sighting, the understanding is that if there _is_ a monster, I’ll-“

He winced as Barclay’s hand tightened around his wrist.

“Sorry.” Barclay let go, and Stern tried to pretend for both of their sakes that he didn’t notice Barclay retreating ever so slightly.

“That’s why I wanted to know how your friends died. And if they were…like you. Since you and I had, well, had encountered one another before, I thought perhaps-“

“No,” Barclay interrupted, voice firm. “No, they were human. They were killed by, uh, well they were killed by stuff that’s like the nightmare monster. Abominations.”

“Ah,” Stern said, both relieved and not, because he couldn’t say-

“I can’t say…I mean, there’s a lot of sylphs. That’s to say, the kind of thing I am. We’re not human, but we still…think, and all that, and…” Barclay smiled, ever so slightly.[22] “You know, it’s weird. Telling you things I shouldn’t. Usually it’s the other way around.”

Stern gave him a half-smile back.[23] They looked at each other for a few breaths, just looked at each other, before Barclay shook his head and continued.

“I can’t say you’ve never,” Barclay gestured uncomfortably.[24] “And, well, I can’t say if you did they weren’t…sylphs are just as capable of doing murder as anyone else. Some of them are capable of even more murder. What was it, thirty people you thought I might’ve killed?” Stern got the feeling Barclay knew that was exactly how many, but he indulged the pretense of uncertainty and nodded anyway. “Is that, you know, normal?”

“A little more than normal, but typically yes. UP has people that are,” Stern frowned, “better at passive investigation than me. If the only leads on your case had been the video, and I didn’t have such a vested interest, someone else would have come to confiscate the tape and observe Kepler for a few weeks to see if you were still around.” He shrugged. “I can’t speak for what might have happened if they’d found you, but they certainly wouldn’t have sent me.”

Barclay nodded. He looked relieved, somehow.[25]

“I didn’t know that,” Barclay said. “When I looked in your case notes, I didn’t know that. You have to understand,” Barclay winced, “I know you didn’t want me to say you had to understand, earlier, but I…for us to talk about this you have to understand that I _didn’t know that._ I _thought_ I did, felt like I did.” He reached out and took Stern’s hand. “You’re a good man, Stanley. It’s why I started talking to you. And I _do_ love you. I hope you can believe me when I say that. But I had to make sure you wouldn’t…that you weren’t going to hurt anyone in this town. That you weren’t-”

“That I wasn’t a monster,” Stern interrupted, and Barclay looked pained but didn’t argue. “I know.”[26] He took a deep breath, let his shoulders rise and fall with it. “I know.”

“You’re not, though.”

Stern let himself smile properly.

“Thanks.”

“And I _am_ sorry.”

“Yeah.” Stern paused for a moment. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, said, “hey, can I kiss you?”

Barclay nodded, a soft smile on his lips.

Stern had worried it might be difficult to kiss Barclay, now that he knew. Well, he’d worried when he wasn’t trying to convince himself everything was fine and he could pretend he _didn’t_ know, or that everything was awful and they couldn’t be together anymore, or any host of other things. It seemed silly, in retrospect. He’d taken Barclay’s hand in the clearing. Let Barclay grab his wrist. Was holding Barclay’s hand at that _very moment._

All those times it had just felt like Barclay. His hands were still warm, fingers calloused and nails short. Still gentle.

Barclay sat still and let Stern close the distance. It was a soft kiss. Brief. Stern pulled back a fraction of an inch, close enough he could feel the heat of Barclay’s breath. He opened his eyes for a moment. Barclay’s were still closed, his lips still curled in a smile. He just looked like Barclay. He just felt like Barclay.

Stern reached up with his free hand to cup Barclay’s jaw. He kissed Barclay again, and again, felt in the pleased hitch of Barclay’s breath and their entwined hands that Barclay was _alive,_ and _there,_ and God, how could Stern have ever thought he might not be a person when the way he leaned into Stern’s kiss was so very _human?_

“Was that alright?” Barclay asked when they parted, eyes genuinely concerned, and Stern knew he’d figured out why Barclay paused.

“Yeah,” Stern said, laughing, “yeah, it was.”

“Good.”

“Just maybe…maybe we keep the bracelet on. For now, at least.”

“Definitely.”

Maybe that other face could just feel like Barclay too, someday. Maybe.

 “We still have things to talk about, of course,” he said.

“Definitely.”

“Tomorrow, though.”

“Yeah.” Barclay back at his bed. It was still completely made, and Stern realized then he hadn’t been able to sleep either. “Hey, do you want to stay?”

“God, yes.”

 

[1] Social awkwardness? Yes. Singlemindedness? Of course.

[2] In fact, Stern had spent the past fifteen years expending a non-zero amount of his energy in an attempt to stop the fact he was _not over it_ from causing issues in his daily life.

[3] Stern had said it out loud, and Barclay had just sat there and nodded and been understanding, but all along he’d been the one who-

[4] If Barclay had been lying about being _human,_ what else had been a lie? How good was he at acting?  What if he didn’t care about Stern at all, what if he’d been laughing at how much of an idiot Stern was to think he could care, what if-

[5] Technically, he had just never told the truth. Technically, Stern had never asked, so really it was only Stern’s fault for not being able to investigate out of a paper ba-

[6] Maybe Stern was just transparent, and everyone at Amnesty had seen how he suddenly couldn’t be in the same room with Barclay anymore. Did they all know what Barclay was? Were they afraid of what Stern might do, now that he’d seen? Barclay had to have told them he’d seen.

[7] He hadn’t even considered it might not be, not until it was already swinging open. It just seemed like he _should_ be able to get in.

[8] Well, Barclay was awake _now_ at least.

[9] Except maybe he could. Stern almost asked whether being a Bigfoot meant Barclay could see in the dark, but if it didn’t he’d feel stupid, and also that wasn’t what he’d come downstairs to ask.

[10] Barclay was always being respectful. It made Stern feel kind of an asshole for avoiding him.

[11] This put him a foot or so away from Barclay, close enough to almost see the details of his face but far enough he could probably duck away if Barclay atta- No, shit, not attacked, Barclay wouldn’t do that. Stern could almost be unkind enough to think Barclay had pretended to love him, but he wasn’t unkind enough to actually voice _that_ fear even in his thoughts.

[12] Like a liar.

[13] He failed to see how that justified pushing him out a _window,_ but he figured he could give Barclay a chance to get to that. And preferably also to who “we” was, though Stern was pretty sure he had the answer.

[14] Stern knew that, as an FBI investigator, he ought to scrutinize that answer for any dishonesty. But he’d accepted it before he could get around to processing that thought.

[15] _And_ almost launched into the thousand questions that Barclay had just raised. _Later_ , he assured himself. Once he had settled all of…this. Mostly settled all of this.

[16] Wasn’t _willfully_ dangerous, Stern should say. Barclay had been in his…was Bigfoot his natural shape, or Barclay? (Later Stern, that’s a question for later) Either way, he had been in that shape long enough for Stern to imagine exactly how dangerous he could be.

[17] He didn’t know why he was asking, he knew he hadn’t misheard. He didn’t want to hear it again either. Why had he asked?

[18] He’d wanted to be angry. He’d wanted to be angry, and just as he’d been about to not want it anymore here it was, and that just made it _worse,_ the cold emptiness filling with something ugly and God, he should swallow this down. He couldn’t.

[19] This was why he always swallowed it down, the way his voice was getting louder, sharper, the way he could barely hear it over the sound of his blood pressure in his ears. He couldn’t be doing this, he was supposed to be _better_ than this. What if someone heard him?

[20] Thank God. Was this how it felt talking to _him_? Stern had, despite the burst of anger, discarded the notion Barclay had completely feigned his affection several steps earlier in this conversation. The blankness on Barclay’s face had Stern considering it again, because he couldn’t imagine wanting to deal with that on a regular basis.

[21] Stern considered coming up with some deflection or excuse. Unfortunately, that involved coming up with a deflection or excuse, and he was too tired for that. So instead he said,

[22] Was it in spite of himself? Or just in spite of the situation?

[23] Definitely in spite of himself. This wasn’t a conversation he should be anything approaching _happy_ during.

[24] Stern nodded, because the night after he’d killed that thing he’d closed his eyes and seen Barclay with a gun against his forehead and _known._ He probably had. He almost definitely had. His second set of notebooks, the ones with the subjects of last cases meticulously itemized by every sort of qualifier known to man, had one too many entries for that not to be true.

[25] Stern thought about telling Barclay he had no way to be sure all the other cases he’d been on weren’t the exact same as this one; weren’t cases of some…sylph? Being blamed for a string of unrelated deaths. But he got the feeling Barclay knew, and the words would have stung to say out loud. Maybe later, once this was over.

[26] He could have been. If things had gone differently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahaha I was gonna get this chapter up 84 years ago but here we are. Thanks to FaiaHae for bullying me about finishing this chapter. This was supposed to be short and fluffy (just like this entire fic) but then I remembered I gave them too many issues.  
> Anyway, there's one more chapter after this. Provided I don't get. Any ideas.


	14. Coda: Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley makes a call. Barclay gets into contact with an old friend. This is the one where Stanley gets therapy for his goddamn PTSD.

“So I was thinking,” Barclay said, like his statement was spur of the moment and not one he’d spent the half hour between when he woke up and when Stanley did staring at the ceiling of his bedroom concocting, “maybe you should get some, uh. Therapy.”

He wondered if it might count as ambushing Stanley, bringing this up while he was in the middle of brushing his teeth and incapable of immediately telling him to shove it. Stanley’s eyebrows twitched with a frown that Barclay was 99% sure was thoughtful and not annoyed. He hoped that wasn’t wishful thinking.

After a moment, Stanley held up one finger in the universal sign for  _ just a moment,  _ continued brushing for about thirty more seconds, and then spat his toothpaste into the sink. Another ten or fifteen seconds passed as Stanley rinsed his toothbrush and swished some water in his mouth. Then he turned, a  _ definitely  _ thoughtful frown on his face.

“My only concern,” he said slowly, then paused again. It was better a better start than Barclay expected. He’d assumed Stanley was the kind of person who…didn’t go for therapy. Probably on account of it had been fifteen years since The Incident and if he  _ had  _ tried to get help it definitely hadn’t been  _ good  _ help. The positive part of Barclay hoped Stanley knew this situation was enough of a mess he probably needed to see someone. The negative part worried Stanley might have assumed this was a  _ do this thing I’m asking for or I’ll walk  _ situation. Which, Barclay was pretty sure if Stanley didn’t talk to  _ someone  _ other than him something would eventually give, but he hadn’t  _ meant  _ it as an ultimatum.

Shit, would it be a dick move to accidentally give him the impression this was an actual threat? Barclay had given a lot of people a lot of advice since he ended up at Amnesty Lodge, but not usually when he was this involved in the situation. What was the protocol for all this?

“My only concern,” Stanley said again, shaking Barclay out of his moral conundrum, “is that it might not be…feasible.”

“What do you mean?”

Stanley tapped his lip with his toothbrush, like it was one of his pens.

“Well, I can’t exactly…typically, I would see one of the FBI’s therapists. That’s what happened after, well, you know…but I didn’t go for long on account of…” Stanley’s frown deepened. “Sorry, that’s not relevant to your question. I don’t think I need to say why I can’t go to UP and seek therapy because my boyfriend Bigfoot nearly killing me fifteen years ago. I also can’t exactly do that with a  _ civilian  _ therapist, on account of they probably would…misinterpret that as a symptom and not the cause. And I feel like there’s not a way I could convert this situation into non-supernatural terms without, uh, creating the wrong impression.”

“Oh,” Barclay said. “I mean, that’s fixable.” Stanley raised an eyebrow at him. “There  _ are  _ therapists that are sylphs. Uh, the thing I am, that is. Hell, I actually used to know one. I can get into contact with her.”

“Yeah. Thanks. That sounds good.”

“You’ve got your thoughtful look on,” Barclay said. Well, Stanley’d had  _ one  _ of his thoughtful looks on for most of this conversation, but this was a  _ more  _ thoughtful one. “Something the matter?”

“No, just remembering that we have things to talk about later.”

Barclay had known that was coming. He kind of wished it wasn’t, on account of Mama was going to  _ kill  _ him when he told her. But it also meant they’d finally be able to have conversations without him having to dance around things which was, against all odds, more appealing than Mama was frightening.

“Yeah, we do.”

Stanley sighed.

“Though, we should probably get  _ this  _ settled first. Since we  _ seem  _ to be adopting an honesty policy I feel like I ought to admit I might chicken out of it if we don’t get it over with.”

Barclay grinned.

“Great.” He leaned forward and kissed Stanley briefly, catching just a hint of the toothpaste on his breath. “I’m…glad we’re working this out.” It sounded stupid to say out loud, but he felt like he had to, just because this whole month it had felt so impossible that it would. But he’d  _ wanted  _ it to. More than he’d wanted anything in a long time.

“Yeah,” Stanley smiled, just barely. “Me too.” Then, his eyes flitted over to the clock on the bathroom wall. “But uh, before we discuss  _ anything,  _ you should probably get started on breakfast.”

Barclay followed his gaze.

“Shit,” he said, sprinting out of the bathroom. He heard Stanley laugh softly behind him, which made the fact that he almost got stuck while trying to put on a shirt as quickly as possible completely worth it.

\--

“Your supervisor isn’t going to kill you, Stanley.” Barclay tried to sound reassuring, which was hard because he had no idea if he was telling the truth. His opinion about federal agent types was still kind of skewed. Hell, maybe even more skewed given the fact Stanley’s coworkers seemed like assholes. For all he knew, Agent Richmond  _ was  _ liable to do something ugly in retaliation for Stanley missing a check-in. Or more likely,  _ Barclay’s  _ worries would come true and she’d have already sent another agent after him.

Stanley had his agent face on, which was basically the same as a frown in this particular situation. The fingers of his right hand drummed on the steering wheel, while his left was occupied by the death grip he had on his cell phone. It was one of those flip phones Barclay used to see back before he’d stopped leaving town six or seven years ago, and if the atmosphere weren’t so tense Barclay might have asked why he had it.

“Yeah,” he said, voice distracted. His fingers stilled on the wheel, and he flipped open his phone.

After breakfast, Barclay had noticed Stanley looked…well, Barclay didn’t think he’d every need to use the word “despondent,” but that was what it was. Stern looked despondent, sitting at the bar with his notebook completely forgotten in front of him. Barclay nearly panicked at that, on account of the only explanation Barclay could come up with for that reaction was Stanley changing his mind about the whole  _ I’m willing to give up on the whole Bigfoot hunting thing and work on my mental wellbeing  _ thing.

As soon as Stanley noticed that Barclay was distressed about  _ him  _ being distressed, his expression smoothed out. This made Barclay even  _ more  _ worried, which Stanley must have noticed.

“I was just thinking,” he’d said softly, glancing over in the direction of the few occupied tables in the lobby to ensure they weren’t listening, “that I may come to regret one of…the decisions I made this week.”

Barclay got even more worried.

“Not about you, Barclay,” Stanley reassured him. “I…well, until last night I wasn’t sure what I was going to tell my superiors had happened over the past week. So I may have dealt with the situation by…not dealing with it. Or, well. I just didn’t…call.”

“That’s bad, right?”

“Most definitely,” Stanley said, sliding his notebook in his coat pocket. He stood, adjusting his jacket against some imaginary imperfection. He must have been even more nervous than he looked. “I should probably deal with it now, actually. See how much damage my tardiness has done.” He gave Barclay a smile which looked real, even if it were also a little shaky. “Don’t worry, I figured out…most of the things I was uncertain about. Actually, I think I  _ was  _ certain, I just had to figure out what I was certain about.”

Barclay felt himself finally relax. It made his stomach twist with just a  _ hint  _ of guilt, thinking Stanley might have changed his mind. Maybe it was just that he’d spent this whole time, this whole  _ month  _ thinking Stanley was going to make the less-than-desirable choice when things came to light. He covered his guilt by smiling back.

“Thanks, Stanley. I know this isn’t…I know what this means.” If Barclay got found out after this, got brought in by anyone  _ other  _ than Stanley, the fact that Stanley had admitted they were together in public would probably ruin him. Best case, he was fired for not figuring it out. Worst case, Stanley turned out to be worse at lying than his coworkers were at figuring out the truth and it came out that he  _ knew.  _ Well, Barclay supposed the only people they’d told were the people at the lodge, but Stanley had no idea that was the same as nobody knowing when it came to the risk of The FBI knowing they were involved.

“It’s worth it. You don’t…I don’t think they’d be willing to listen if I explained, and you don’t deserve what they’d do. Besides,” Stanley added, warmly, “I may be a little biased toward you staying a free man.”

Barclay snorted.

“You and me both.”

They smiled at each other for a moment, then Stanley shook himself.

“Actually, speaking of our…situation. I was thinking you could come with me?”

“Stanley, I trust you not to say anything, I don’t need to listen-“

“That’s not it, actually. I was thinking you could bring your phone along and we could…call that person you mentioned? We can’t use mine, uh, unless we want the FBI having a link between them and myself.”

They’d already discussed this, but Barclay still couldn’t get a handle on the fact it was going so  _ smoothly.  _ It felt like things shouldn’t go this smoothly, not for the two of them. Well, actually, Stanley had sort of considered shooting Barclay in the head, so he guessed they probably deserved a break, but it still caught him off guard. Like he was climbing steps in the dark and there was one fewer than he’d thought there would be. Preparing for a longer uphill battle and discovering that he’d already found steady ground.

So Barclay had followed him to the car, sat beside him on the entire drive to decent cell service, handed him the scuffed-up flip phone out of his glove compartment, and rested a comforting hand on his thigh as he tried to work up the courage to dial.

Then, just as Stanley was about to begin dialing, his phone rang. It was a reedy, chiptune version of the X-Files theme, and Stanley looked vaguely embarrassed about it. Barclay bit back a smile at how  _ silly  _ it was. Did Stanley’s coworkers know he was the kind of person that would do that on his work phone? Barclay was pretty sure he knew the answer. His opinion of federal agents was  _ very  _ skewed, apparently.

Stanley squinted at the caller ID for a moment, then cautiously accepted the call and brought the phone up to his ear.

“I don’t know how you got this number, but I think you may have misdialed.” Stanley was silent for a moment. He opened his mouth as if to answer, then shut it again, then opened it again. “Yes, it has been a while,” he managed eventually. “Yes, well, I was outside of town running,” Stanley’s eyes flicked in Barclay’s direction for a split second, “errands.” More silence. Stanley held the phone between his ear and his shoulder and pulled his pen and notebook out of his pocket.

“My apologies,” he told the person on the other end, looking mildly sheepish as he did. He clicked his pen and began writing on a page near the end of the notebook. “I know I have. My apologies.” He turned the notebook toward Barclay.

_ It’s the therapist I saw after the incident?  _

“It wasn’t my intention to worry you.” A pause. Stanley sighed. “Yes, I am in West Virginia. Yes, that case.”

Stanley’s jaw tightened.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your professional opinion,” Stanley said, voice dangerously flat as he scribbled violently in his notebook, “but I believe I can make that sort of decision for myself.”

_ She thinks it’s unhealthy for me to be here.  _ There was an angry tilt to the letters, the even curves of his normal writing reduced to jagged edges.

“With all due respect, Cheryl,” Stanley began, and the anxiousness was joined by a sense of déjà vu. No, that had to be a coincidence. There was definitely more than one therapist named Cheryl in America. “It’s been ten years.” A pause. “I appreciate your continued interest in my welfare, but-“

_ She’s saying she’s going to recommend I be reassigned,  _ Stanley wrote, turning to stare at Barclay with wide eyes. The anxiousness got a lot worse. It  _ had  _ to be a different person, the one he was thinking of would  _ never- _

“Yes, I’m still listening,” Stanley answered. “I really don’t think that’s necessary. This is an important case, and I’m nowhere near close to a breakthrough.” Pause. “I think we both know that a new agent would set the case back by a few weeks at  _ least. _ ” Pause. “Please, Cheryl. Leaving now…I’ve thought about this. Believe me. It…failing this assignment wouldn’t help,” he said, earnestly. Pause. A sigh of relief. “Thank you for seeing my perspective.” Pause. “I’ll think it over.” Pause. “You have a good day too.”

Stanley hung up, took a deep breath, and held it. Barclay reached over and gently took the notebook, replacing it with his own hand.

“So it sounds like you’ve convinced her?”

Stanley let out the breath in a rush.

“I convinced her to let me decide. I wouldn’t be surprised if she called again.” Stanley let his head fall back against his seat and closed his eyes. “Cheryl…means well. She has…opinions, but she never…she never made me feel like I had to agree with her.”

“It sounded like she intended to, there,” Barclay said, frowning. Stanley opened his eyes again and turned his head to look at Barclay.

“Yes, she did. That wasn’t. I don’t know. I don’t see her often, not since I declined continued treatment…” He trailed off, giving Barclay a moment to wonder what exactly had happened. “Just once every two years for UP’s mandatory check-ins. I don’t know her that well, is what I’m trying to say, but that sort of thing didn’t seem  _ like  _ her.”

“Yeah, sure,” Barclay agreed, he tried not to sound too doubtful.

“Well, one good thing came out of this at least,” Stanley mused, slipping his phone into his pocket, “Apparently she dealt with Agent Richmond for me.”

“What? Why?” Maybe Barclay had to revise his opinion of Stanley’s Cheryl. Maybe.

“She apparently found out I was here when Agent Richmond asked for a professional opinion about my wellbeing. Since she’s trusting me to make my own decision about this…for now at least, she offered to keep Agent Richmond out of my hair for the week.”

“That’s…” Everything was going  _ way  _ too smoothly. “Hey, weird question, but why did you stop seeing her? You don’t have to answer, I’m just figuring out whether I should be holding a grudge against her on principal.”

“It wasn’t anything about her, actually. I…technically, doctor’s records are confidential, and no one would have ever had do find out I was seeing somebody about this. But they would have. That’s just how things worked in that unit.” Stanley shrugged. “Everyone already thought I might be unstable. I didn’t feel the need to give them more ammunition.”

That was when Barclay’s phone began to ring. He thought about ignoring it, but the only people who knew he had a phone despite living somewhere he could only use it very rarely wouldn’t call him unless it was an emergency.

“Oh thank god, I thought I’d get the answering machine,” a high, half-panicked voice was saying as the phone reached his ear. He felt like he should be able to place it. “Listen, Barclay. I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I have to warn you. There’s an FBI Agent in Kepler and he  _ very  _ much has it out for you.”

“Cheryl?” He said as he placed the voice. Stanley startled. Barclay squeezed his hand reassuringly. He wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to calm down. This was a coincidence. Totally.

“I mean, you’ve probably spotted him by now. He’s not an undercover operative. But I have to warn you anyway because he’s more dangerous than you’re probably thinking, even though you definitely already know he’s dangerous.”

“You’re talking about Agent Stern?” Barclay asked, because the pieces of this weren’t quite fitting together in his mind. There had to be a coincidence.

“Yes. Listen, he’s. He’s a good man. Or I’m pretty sure he is, but he’ll kill you if he finds out. I’m  _ so _ sorry I couldn’t call you sooner, but I just found out. I was worried…” A sigh on her end of the line. “I thought you might already be dead, actually.”

“No, I’m fine. Believe me, I’m not in any da-“

“Barclay, you have to listen to me! I’ll. I’ve been wanting to give you a talking to about this for the entire time I’ve known you but couldn’t because of doctor-patient confidentiality but your life’s on the line so I’m making an exception and  _ you threw an FBI Agent out the window. _ ”

Cheryl sounded angry. It was the kind of anger which, back when Barclay knew her, she’d only ever had for the Sylvan Court. The kind of anger which she’d always had to smile and apologize for after she came down from it, her high, musical voice a little nervous but mostly righteous as she said “I just can’t abide by people that do things like  _ that,  _ now can I?” Barclay felt a little bit chastised, even through the haze that had settled over him as he realized there was no way this was a coincidence.

“Hey, Stanley,” Barclay said, “I have a question.”

“My Cheryl’s last name is Whitlock,” Stanley replied. They shared a look.

“Oh, well,” Cheryl said. “Wait a second, Barclay what are you doing talking to the FBI agent that’s here to  _ kill you _ ? What are you doing hanging out with the FBI agent that’s here to kill you  _ outside of the quiet zone?  _ Why are you going on field trips with the FBI agent that’s here to kill you?”

“I’m putting you on speaker.”

“Barclay what are you  _ doi- _ “ Cheryl’s voice had gone a little shrill, which Barclay supposed was a little fair. But he’d been mad with her for trying to get Stanley out of Kepler, before he knew who she was and, well. He supposed he could understand her reasons  _ now _ , but he was feeling petty.

“Hello Cheryl,” Stanley cut in. “I…suppose we have something to tell you.”

There was a long silence. Barclay thought the line might have gone dead.

“Alright, so. First thing?” Cheryl said, just as Barclay was about to try redialing, “sorry about threatening to pull the ‘I’m calling your boss’ card on you, Stanley.”

“Given the context, I completely understand,” Stanley said. “You are forgiven.”

“Thank you. Second? What the fuck.”

“I was actually going to call you today, Cheryl,” Barclay said, and hoped he didn’t sound as shaken as she did. “You see, it turns out my new boyfriend has some uh, things he’d like to work out, but because some of it isn’t exactly something that laymen should be hearing about I thought it’d be good to call you.” He paused.

“Also, you never told me you worked for the FBI.”

“Oh,” Stanley said, the mix of surprise and satisfaction in his voice just like how Thacker used to get after solving a crossword puzzle that had stumped him for hours. “I’d always wondered why you believed me about Bigfoot.”

“Sylvaine thought it would be a good idea to have someone run interception on anyone in the FBI that might find out about us. Vincent watched the X-Files one time and he convince the rest of The Court it was a priority.”

“Who’s Vincent?” Stern whispered.

“I’ll tell you later,” Barclay whispered back. He hadn’t  _ meant  _ to go into the individual members of Sylvaine’s court, when they were deciding what Stanley needed to know about all this. But apparently they were going to.

“If that was your job, telling me I didn’t hallucinate the whole Bigfoot fiasco seems a bit…counterproductive, doesn’t it?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to just  _ gaslight  _ you.” She sounded mildly offended that he would even mention that. “I’m a  _ professional. _ Hey, Barclay, don’t tell The Court I said that, because that’s definitely what I’m supposed to be doing. Anyway, I find people are less likely to talk publicly about unexplainable things if they feel like they’ve processed the whole experience anyway. Which, by the way, did you  _ seriously  _ decide to date a man you threw out a window Barclay?”

“In his defense, he didn’t know it was me.”

“I was trying to get him out of the way of an abomination.”

Barclay heard what sounded like a poorly suppressed scream of frustration, and then a long pause.

“Anyway, do you want to schedule an appointment?” She asked after about a minute, voice purposefully neutral.

“What?”

“Barclay called me to ask about you getting therapy. Which would be convenient, since I’ve been hoping you’d call me, or really literally anyone, about your treatment for a  _ long  _ time. So. Do you want to schedule an appointment?”

Stanley looked thoughtful for a moment, then held out a hand. Barclay handed him the phone.

“I’ll let you two figure things out,” he said softly, unbuckling his seatbelt. Stanley nodded, leaning over to kiss him before taking the phone off speaker and putting it to his ear. Barclay opened the door and stepped out of the car, leaning with his back against the door and watching the sunlight glitter off the snow on Mount Kepler.

It didn’t seem like things should be going this smoothly, but he supposed everyone deserved a break sometimes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so funny story I keep saying "one more coda" but ACTUALLY one more coda. This section was on track to be like 1k words when I started it, and then people just kept TALKING. So one more coda.  
> Also, thanks to FaiaHae for editing this and also for writing Sternclay so i can live. And double also because they convinced me to stop being a coward and retcon trans Stern into the story. So uh I edited What's In a Name if anybody cares.


	15. Coda: A Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern has a proposition. The Pine Guard has a meeting. Mama finds she needs to revise some opinions.

_Stern’s got something to do with this,_ Mama thought, watching Barclay shut the kitchen door behind him. He only got that look on his face when he was being an absolute fool about his secret agent man. Or more specifically when he’d done something _because_ he was a fool about his secret agent man, and he was trying to figure out how to tell her. Like she was gonna explode.

Coming from the person in the world that knew her best – well, aside from the guy that was currently possessed by a spider monster – that…hurt. If she exploded it’d be because she damn well needed to.

“So, first, uh. I’m gonna ask you all to promise you won’t panic when I tell you the reason I called this meeting,” Barclay said, addressing the whole of the Pine Guard but staring directly at her. Aubrey raised her hand. “Yes, Aubrey?”

“You know that means someone definitely will, right?”

“Yes,” Barclay said, sounding like some long-suffering, reasonable person and not somebody who was about to tell them he’d done something stupid.

Duck raised his hand.

“Yes, Duck?”

“Would we have, if you hadn’t said that?”

Barclay sighed.

“Yes, definitely. You would definitely have panicked.”

Aubrey raised her hand again.

“I’m going to just tell you now, so we can get this over with.” Mama glared at him. He ignored her, staring somewhere in the air above Ned’s head. She tried her best to come up with the worst possible thing he might say. That way, the truth would feel a little less disappointing. After all, it definitely couldn’t be as bad as, “Stern knows pretty much everything.”

If Mama exploded, it’d be because she damn well needed to.

She decided that, in this case, she damn well needed to.

“You _what_?”

“Wow, Barclay, totally uncool!” Aubrey gasped, clutching Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD to her chest.

Barclay sighed.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, Mama, I promise.”

“Barclay, normally I appreciate you and your romantic shit, but…” She forcibly unclenched her jaw, because if she didn’t then it’d start hurting in an hour and that would just remind her all over again of this _stupid_ situation. “I thought we agreed you were gonna be _careful_ while you were tryin’ to seduce the fucking _Fed_.”

“I _was_ careful,” Barclay said. “Listen, I was gonna keep quiet…” He broke off, shaking his head. “Okay, I can’t say I thought I was gonna keep quiet forever. But I was going to keep quiet until I _had_ to tell him and, well.”

“Well?” Mama prodded. She wondered how many years this conversation was gonna take off her life. Seemed like at least three or four years already, and she got the feeling they were nowhere near done.

“Stern and I. Well, we both ran into the abomination.”

Mama brushed off a little bit of annoyance at the fact that Stern finding the abomination by himself meant he was smarter than she’d wanted to give him credit for. Not smarter than she’d had to _assume_ he was, given what underestimating him would mean, but smarter than that little seed of pettiness she thought she deserved after all these years _wanted_ him to be.

She couldn’t let herself be slowed down by _those_ feelings, because the realization settling in her gut was a lot more important.

“Shit,” she said, “when you said everything, I thought you meant you’d caved and told him you were Bigfoot.”

“I couldn’t exactly keep it a secret!”

She knew that. She really didn’t want to know that. She was pretty sure Barclay was aware of both of those things, because he deflated.

“Listen,” Barclay said, “he’s the one that killed the thing. I needed to explain _something_ to him, or he _would’ve_ gone off and told the FBI.”

“You could have-“ She cut herself off, because no, he couldn’t have stopped Stern from going to the Feds. If he had, she didn’t know whether she would’ve been able to help him pick himself back up after. She probably couldn’t, even if it had been somebody he hated instead of a guy he kept making eyes at. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter what you could’ve done, on account of you didn’t. But why the hell didn’t you tell me sooner, Barclay?”

He winced. That was good. If he’d been unrepentant she’d have had to leave the building and go scream in the woods for a bit.

“I, well. I wasn’t lying when I said I _know_ he won’t go to his bosses about this, but…I didn’t know back _then._ ” She gave him an unimpressed look, and he backpedaled, voice defensive. “It was a delicate situation, Mama! If he got spooked, well. I knew that if nobody came after him, he’d come talk to me eventually.” Damn, he even sounded like he believed it. “But he’s not an idiot. If everyone knew that _he_ knew, he’d have noticed and probably freaked.”

Mama took a deep breath. He was...probably right. And he wasn’t lying when he said he trusted Agent Stern. It was just that, irrespective of her opinion that Barclay was normally a good judge of character, _she_ didn’t trust Agent Stern, even if he’d stopped plastering on that damn smile so much.

She’d figure out a way to communicate that later, because Barclay had a disappointed look in his eye, like he thought that _she_ thought he was an idiot.

“You three didn’t know about this?” Mama asked, putting off the delicate business of telling her best friend in the whole world that she still very much respected him, she just thought he needed better taste in men. It was a question she’d been meaning to ask, anyway, because if there was a chance for them to get involved with something that’d spike her blood pressure _this much_ she had a hard time believing they hadn’t taken it.

“No, not at all,” Ned said. He sounded like he might have been lying, which meant there was a fifty percent chance he was telling the truth. Aubrey said nothing. She just continued stroking Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD, a betrayed look on her face.

“Duck, did the three of you know Stern killed the abomination?”

Duck froze, and Mama could see both Ned and Aubrey give up any hope of lying.

“Uh, well, you see-“

“We got there when it was uh, dying,” Aubrey admitted. She dropped the _uncannily_ good innocent expression in favor of a vaguely guilty one. Not a guilty enough one, in Mama’s opinion. She gave all of them a hard look, then pinched the bridge of her nose. God. She’d woken up that morning with the feeling something was gonna go to shit.

“Well, at least he doesn’t know you’re Bigfoot.” There was silence. Mama looked directly at him, and he stared back, and any guilt he’d shown earlier had flown right off his face. Like she was the opposition in this whole thing. “He doesn’t know, right? You didn’t tell the guy whose job is to kill Bigfoot you’re Bigfoot, right?”

“He knows I’m Bigfoot.”

Mama took a deep breath. It didn’t help.

“And why does he know you’re Bigfoot?”

“The abomination was kinda…trying to eat him. So I panicked and…” He held up the arm where he wore his bracelet. He still didn’t look at all sorry.

“And he didn’t kill you?”

She was obligated, as the only person with a sane amount of fucking skepticism regarding Stern, to stay unmoved as long as possible. Still, that was a surprise, and a relief. She’d tried not to picture how this whole experiment would end, because much as she thought Barclay could do better for a whole lot of reasons he was a grown ass man and she couldn’t stop him from dating the Fed. But she did picture it, sometimes, and it never ended well. It _ended_ with Barclay’s head opened up by a bullet, or defending himself and making an even uglier scene.

“We worked it out.” He sighed. “Listen, Mama. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but it…We had some things to talk through, and like I said-“

“You thought I’d do something.”

That stung. Barclay went and fell in love with a guy that wanted to kill him – except shit, that had apparently turned out fine. Then he’d turned into Bigfoot right in front of him – except Mama couldn’t lie to herself and say she’d rather someone die. And now she’d told him everything – except. Mama groaned, dropping her head in her hands

“This is a goddamn mess.”

He laughed.

“Actually, I’d say it’s not nearly as much a mess as it should be.”

She met his eyes again, and at the very least the closed off look was out of his eyes.

“You think he’s square?”

“Yeah,” Barclay said, with absolutely no hesitation. Mama fought the instinct to ask if he was sure, but she knew his answer.

She went with “alright,” instead.

Then, after she’d thought everything was handled, he actually got sheepish.

“But, uh, he wants to talk to y’all.”

Aubrey raised her hand.

“Yes, Aubrey?” Barclay managed to beat Mama to it.

“What?” She asked. Doctor Harris Bonkers, PhD twitched his nose in what seemed like agreement. Mama couldn’t even bring herself to be as surprised as she ought to be.

“Did he tell you why?”

“Yeah.”

Mama raised an eyebrow expectantly. He didn’t say anything.

“You gonna elaborate?”

“I think _he_ wants to elaborate.”

Aubrey raised her hand.

“Yes Aubrey?” Mama asked.

“Can we vote on it?”

Mama considered saying she’d make an executive decision for the good of the whole team, but that would mean she’d have to decide what that decision was. She made a show of seeming a lot more conflicted than she actually was.

“…Fine. Who thinks we should let Stern come say his piece?”

Everyone raised their hand, including her. She hadn’t known she was going to until the instant she did it.

“Oh thank god,” Aubrey said. “I asked for a vote ‘cuz I thought you’d say no.”

Mama sighed.

“Go get him Barclay. And tell him that if he’s lyin’ I’ll double kill him, once for fuckin’ with me and once for fuckin’ with you.”

“I think he remembers that from the last shovel talk, Mama,” Barclay said, smiling as he made his way to the door. He left it hanging partway open, so she watched him move over to the bar and wave. A moment later he came back in, followed by Stern. Stern wasn’t wearing that plastic expression he usually did, which was good on account of Mama didn’t think she could listen to him if he’d had it on.

He took a deep breath, nodding vaguely in all of their directions in what seemed like a greeting. Then he strode over to the counter and set down a briefcase she’d hardly noticed he was carrying. There was a minute or so of silence as he undid at least three locks – and she thought he made direct eye contact with Ned as he did so – and pulled out a sheet of paper.

“What’s that?” Aubrey asked.

“It’s my report on the abomination I killed last week.”

Mama almost gave herself whiplash turning to glare at Barclay. He mouthed out two words, and it took her a second for their meaning to sink in.

_Trust me._

“You wanna explain that in a way that doesn’t make the idea of shootin’ you seem like a good one?” She asked.

“Perhaps I should rephrase. This is the _first draft_ of my report on the abomination I killed last week.” He folded it in half and held it out to her. As she took it, he continued. “Before you read it, I’d like to explain myself.”

It was only one piece of paper. One piece of paper which could theoretically ruin everything. She thought about what Barclay said. _Trust me._

Well, she supposed he had more at stake here than her.

“I insist,” she said. He looked relieved, which relaxed her a little bit. If he were good at faking emotions, then he’d’ve managed to pull off cheerful better.

“My superiors are getting…antsy. About my lack of progress, I mean. If I don’t report something soon, they’ll call me back to D.C.”

“And you want to stay with Barclay?” Ned guessed. Mama took a moment to look at her teammates. They all seemed to find that _delightful._

“No, actually. Well. Yes.” He flashed a small smile in Barclay’s direction, and Mama didn’t need to see Barclay’s face to know he smiled back. Okay, she gave up. The FBI man was fucking smitten, if he was gonna destroy them all it’d be because he turned out to be an idiot. “But that’s not…that’s not the only reason.” He pulled a file out of his briefcase. Mama wondered whether he’d organized it specifically for this conversation. He produced a piece of paper, thick cardstock, and turned it in their direction.

It was a picture of a body, chest torn open and face ripped off, lying in the woods.

“This is why I’m here, Ms. Cobb,” Stern said, seriously. Then, blessedly, he put the photo back in the folder. “I have twenty-five of these, and five more unsolved missing person’s cases besides.”

“That wasn’t Barclay!” Aubrey insisted. She had no way to know that for sure, not like Mama did, but she sounded like she’d never been more certain of anything in her life.

Damned if Mama wasn’t proud of her people.

“I know that,” Stern replied, giving Barclay another fond look. “Or. I know that _now.”_

“It was abominations,” Barclay cut in. “The dates are the same as all the times stuff’s gotten out of Kepler.”

“Ned’s tape is…definitive. But eventually UP will decide the trail has gone cold. That Bigfoot escaped.” Stern’s voice was tight as he continued. “They _won’t_ be happy with me, if they have to admit that.”

“Yeah, well, that’s real unfortunate.” It was, actually. She didn’t trust him – though now that he’d dropped the Stepford act she didn’t trust him a lot less – but that didn’t mean she wanted to ruin his life or anything. Just…well, she _had_ wanted him out of Kepler, but she didn’t want to see how Barclay’d get if this whole thing forced him out.

“It would be. And not for me. I mean, it would be unfortunate for me, on account of six months of failure on a case of this magnitude looks _very_ bad on my record. But it would also be unfortunate for you.”

Duck raised his hand.

“Yes, Duck?” Stern asked.

“Thought you said they’d decide Barclay’d hoofed it. Can’t see how putting us in the clear is a bad thing.”

Stern laughed. Short, sharp.

“Well, it would _theoretically_ put you in the clear. But first they’d send another agent to make sure my conclusion that Bigfoot was gone wasn’t a result of, well, incompetence.”

“Shit,” Mama said.

“I doubt Barclay will be able to uh,” Stern coughed, “charm any of the others as well as he did me.”

“Wouldn’t want to,” Barclay replied, and they smiled at each other again. Holy fuck, they were _that_ couple. Mama wished she could go back to assuming she’d have to deal with Stern breaking Barclay’s heart at some point. Well. No, she didn’t, because then she’d have to worry about how she’d deal with Stern breaking Barclay’s heart.

After a moment, Stern’s smile dropped into something grim.

 

“My colleagues are all good at their jobs, and some of them are…” He paused, searching for the right word. “They aren’t cruel just to be cruel, but they won’t let themselves be stopped by things like morals. Or collateral damage.” He shrugged. “Honestly, you were lucky you ended up with me. Even, uh, not including me. Well.” He gestured toward Barclay. “Getting sidetracked on the whole killing Bigfoot thing.”

“And you think you’ve got a solution to that?”

“At the end of last month, I told my supervisor that I thought that sinkhole over by the hospital might not be…completely natural. Two months before that, I said that I thought the water park being destroyed might be a pressing issue. When I send this report later in the week, it’ll get the same response I did after I told Agent Richmond about both of those incidents.”

“And what’s that?”

“Your concerns have been noted, please focus on the task at hand.” He frowned, looking personally offended. Mama almost asked _well, how the hell does that help us then?_ Because making himself look more like a fool wasn’t exactly going to keep him in Kepler, now was it? But then she caught the set of his shoulders and realized it was something she _recognized._ He had something he wanted to vent about and, hell, who was she to stop him from complaining about the FBI?

“My colleagues. I just said they’re good at their jobs, and I wasn’t lying. If any of them came to Kepler, they would track down _something_ supernatural, which they could justify as being connected to Bigfoot, and then they would kill it.”

“Connected to Bigfoot.”

“Everyone in UP believes that the paranormal is something different. They’ll solve any case, but once they find the monster they’ll justify it as being whatever they believe in. Agent White would say Barclay is a human possessed by a demon. Agent Benning would say Bigfoot is some sort of ghost…somehow. Agent Mulaney would say Bigfoot is Bigfoot, because he’s one of the only ones that believes in normal cryptids. There’s an agent who believes in little green men, and one who believes in sorcerers, and one that’s convinced every monster he’s killed is a human who took bath salts. But do you know what’s convenient about their kind of belief?”

Mama looked him in the eyes. The answer was sitting on the tip of her tongue, festering until it reached the point of being almost unbearable. Then, she finally found the words.

“Once they find the monster they’ll justify it,” she said. “But they haven’t found the abominations yet, have they.”

Stern nodded.

“Most of them believe that something which could pass for Bigfoot probably exists, and it was definitely in Kepler. They believe that because they saw the tapes, and they couldn’t disprove the tapes, and none of them are stupid enough to ignore physical evidence. But, well. If there’s no physical evidence…” he trailed off.

“There’s no one in UP that believes in exploding water parks and magic sinkholes, I’m guessin’?” She asked.

“And company policy is to assume that any monster that exists in a dream is, well. A dream.”

She unfolded the report, because it felt like the right moment. It was shorter than she’d expected. She felt the others crowding over her shoulders. Except Barclay, who most definitely already read it.

_1/1/19: Began having vivid nightmares, featuring a dark figure with sharp teeth and several eyes. These nightmares bore no resemblance to my normal dreams._

_1/7/19: Discovered that other residents of Amn. Lodge have been having dreams featuring a similar figure. Furthermore, the other details of their dreams are identical to mine._

_With the assistance of Ranger “Duck” Newton, I have learned about a set of mysterious tracks discovered on 1/1/19. An identical set had been found recently, and I decided to investigate._

_Tracked a large subject, which matched the appearance of my dreams. Began experiencing hallucinations similar to the contents of said dreams. Confronted the creature, which was similar in appearance to a large dog with too many eyes. It was dispatched with silver bullets. Unknown whether this was a weakness to silver, or simply to firearms in general._

_Body evaporated after death._

“It didn’t always look like a dog,” Duck said, a couple seconds after Mama had finished reading. “It looked like, uh, a lot of things.”

“I shot something that looked like a dog after having a series of terrible nightmares which prevented me from sleeping, and now I have no access to the body,” Stern said. “My superiors will assume that it was a dog, and I was overtired from my dreams. But, technically, this could also be the third supernatural occurrence in six months, which is more than there’s ever been in one place since…well, since UP was founded. They won’t investigate, because I have no evidence that I’m right, but they can’t take me out of here because if I _am_ right they won’t want to ruin my investigation. And if I’m staying, they probably won’t send anyone to double check my work.”

“If they do?”

“I distract them and hope I can keep them running in circles until they leave.”

Mama looked down at the report. _I shot something that looked like a dog._ What would the other abominations have seemed like? _I destroyed a tree that was blooming at the wrong time and then a sinkhole stopped forming. Some water was acting spooky so someone I knew shot it with a nerf gun and then a water slide exploded._

“Is this all you want?” She asked, waving the paper. “To write your reports?”

“Actually,” Stern said. “I was wondering if I could…” He trailed off, looking at Barclay. Barclay nodded, and Mama realized what Stern was going for as he said it, “help you.”

She wanted to say no. She looked over at Barclay, who was looking at Stern. Still fond. The last time they’d brought up adding anyone to the roster he’d looked terrified, and she knew why. He was always a little antsy about the idea of bringing new people in, had stared at the new trio when they weren’t looking with a glint in his eye that said _I know what you could do to me_ for that first week. Ned for longer, after the tape. _Trust me,_ she’d said.

“Well.” God, she couldn’t believe she was about to fucking say this. “Y’all FBI men like badges, right?”

“Yes?” Stern’s eyebrows furrowed, just a little. Barclay looked delighted.

“How would you like to get another one?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this is the real last chapter. Actually. I mean, I might think of something and have to come back to it but. This is the third scene? I think? That I ever came up with for this fic. So I had to stick it in there. Also, thank you FaiaHae for my life and also for checking my spelling and grammar. Newagenewbarricade as well. Also, there's a discord server now so you should all join us, the invite code is m9jKgqT. (You need to put discordapp . com/invite in front of it). Double also, aubreylittlee over on Tumblr drew [this art](https://aubreylittlee.tumblr.com/post/183879417436/drew-some-characters-from-sternclay-hell-ive-been) of Richmond and Cheryl

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Nighttime Meetings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17168969) by [emmawalters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmawalters/pseuds/emmawalters)




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